Burn The Whore House To The Ground
by IceRose92
Summary: In a world where sex slavery is the norm, Santana's sold to a wealthy man who hopes that Santana's company can help mend his daughter's broken spirit. Can a master who doesn't believe in the slave trade and a slave who only wants to be loved let go of their troubled pasts? AU Brittana (very small mentions of Faberry, Puckurt, Tike, and Samcedes)
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Burn The Whore House [To The Ground]

**Pairing(s)**: Brittana, Faberry, Puckurt, Tike, Samcedes

**Summary**: _In a world where sex slavery is the norm, Santana's sold to a wealthy man who hopes that Santana's company can help mend his daughter's broken spirit. Can a master who doesn't believe in the slave trade and a slave who only wants to be loved let go of their troubled pasts?__  
_

**Rating**: R/M

**Spoilers: **None.

**Disclaimers**: I do not own anything.

**Warnings:** Sex slavery; mentions of rape and abuse.

**Author's Notes:** This is my very first Glee fic. Yes, I jumped on the sex slavery bandwagon. This is an AU, set in present day. I'm not sure how many chapters there will be, but I hope its half-way decent.

* * *

Lima, Ohio isn't a particularly large town. One could easily run from one city limit to the other and back again if they so wished.

Lima isn't a large town by any means, so when Santana Lopez is dragged into the auction house, she's surprised at how crowded the building is. It looks like everyone in Lima – plus the surrounding towns – is packed into the tiny space. It's still early, the blazing sun barely peeking from the horizon, but she's already caught wind of three violent outbreaks amongst the patrons.

Santana hopes the auction won't take long; it's already stifling in the auction house.

Santana watches the auctioneer as he fiddles with the dials on his amplifier, then casts her eyes to the shackles around her wrists as a guard strolls by; she can feel his gaze linger on her chest, and she tries to fold her arms around herself as much as possible. She'd only been given a pair of black sweat pants that were a size too large and a white t-shirt that was a size too small. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to get close enough to the front of the line to receive undergarments. Hell, she wouldn't even have a shirt at all if the boy in front of her hadn't been gracious enough to give up his – the very last one in the trunk.

"Good morning, everyone!" Santana winces as the speakers squeal for a few agonizingly long seconds. The grating noise is enough to quiet the chatter of the crowd, and the auctioneer continues. "For those of you who are new around here, my name is William Schuester, and I have had the pleasure of being Lima's Slave Auctioneer for five years now."

There's applause before Schuester carries on, rattling off a bit of Lima history, including a short list of auction donors, including – but not limited to – Sue Sylvester, Shelby Corcoran, Brian Pierce, and Michael and Julia Chang.

As the named guests stand to wave and receive a collected applause, Santana chances a glance out at the crowd. She vaguely remembers some of those who are standing. The Changs are very wealthy, and Santana's fairly certain that the couple only attends auctions for the networking opportunities. Today, though, their son sits fidgeting beside them, and Santana suspects he's here to make his very first purchase. _Good for him_, she thinks bitterly.

Shelby and Sue seem to just enjoy the attention that they receive; Santana tells herself not to fall for the façade. Shelby's a tough negotiator with a domineering personality and a heart of ice; Santana's heard through the grapevine that Sue collects slaves like trophies, and that she has close to a hundred of them. Santana's not sure she believes the last part, but she supposes anything is possible.

There are a handful of others, but Santana finds her eyes drawn to Brian Pierce. Three times she'd been on various auction blocks, and every time he was there, observing but never bidding. He's tall and lean, but impressive muscles bulge under his tight blue shirt. His brutal, violent reputation reaches to all parts of the country, instilling fear in those who had never even met or been owned by the man. From what Santana's heard, he sounds more awful than the worst master she'd ever had. The blonde beside her – Quinn, Santana thinks – trembles, and she just knows that her eyes are on Pierce also. He's every slave's worst nightmare.

Santana flinches as a guard stomps by to shove her head down roughly; beside her, he does the same to Quinn.

Through the hazy blanket of panic she feels enveloping her, Santana hears Schuester finally start the selling portion of the auction. A small amount of slaves are sold back to the auction block. A scowling man in a wheelchair sells a girl by the name of Tina; Noah Puckerman – Santana remembers his name because he was always exceptionally flirtatious and kind to all of the slaves – sells a girl whose name Santana doesn't catch; someone takes over long enough for Schuester to sell his own slave, a remarkably clean woman named Emma.

Schuester steps back up, and the buying portion of the auction commences; Santana's stomach begins to knot with dread. She's never had any luck with masters. She can only hope that her black eye and busted lip will keep anyone from buying her today; nobody likes to spend money on battered property.

Buying goes in alphabetical order by slave last name. Those whose last names are unknown go first and are quickly swept up. Tina is pulled to the front again, and is immediately sold to the Chang's son, who forgoes the standard collar and leash and leads Tina through the doors by her hand.

Santana sighs sadly. It's only wishful thinking to be treated in such a chivalrous way. Masters like Chang are few and far between.

Further down the line, Sam is bought and hauled away by Dr. and Mrs. Jones, a "good luck in college" gift for their daughter. On the long drive to the auction house, sitting in the back of a cramped cargo truck, she and Sam had really clicked. He had been the only one to get Santana to even so much as look up from the floor with his goofy charm. Santana prays that he's treated well. Beside her, Quinn is shoved forward. In the crowd, Sue yells out a bid, but is quickly shot down by a short brunette. Quinn appears torn between disgust that she is now owned by this girl – Berry, if Santana had heard correctly – and elation that she is not owned by Sue Sylvester. Puckerman snatches up the kid who had given Santana his shirt, and just Chang had done with Tina, Puckerman refuses the leash and collar, leading Kurt out by the hand.

When Schuester reaches the L's on his list, Santana is shoved forward roughly. Unlike those before her, bids are not immediately called out. Santana can't say she's surprised; she's pretty banged up, her eye swollen shut and her lip busted painfully, and her profile – that Schuester is required to read - isn't very promising. She's illiterate, something surprisingly uncommon for a slave, and she's had a "history" of violent outbursts. What Schuester fails to mention is that she'd only gotten violent twice, only with one master, and he had quickly beaten the fight out of her.

Maybe it's enough to keep her from being bought for one more auction.

Since no bids are forthcoming, Schuester offers up a starter of five thousand. Santana's eyes roam behind her hair as the crowd points and whispers. Some make to stand and bid, but quickly change their minds. Finally, Sue sucks it up and brings her megaphone to her lips, offering to take Santana for the five thousand. Shelby is quick to respond with a bid of five hundred more. They battle intensely, Sue trying to outdo Shelby with her megaphone, and Santana thinks that they may start throwing punches soon.

Until a voice calls over the squabbling women.

"Thirty thousand!"

Santana's eyes widen. Surely she's not worth anywhere near that amount of money. She quickly seeks out her bidder, and immediately wishes that she hadn't.

Brian Pierce.

Santana would much rather be put back in her tiny cell at the slave farm.

There's a ruckus in the crowd as Sue shouts colorful insults through her megaphone and others join in with their own varied negative opinions about spending so much money on such a worthless slave. Schuester smacks his gavel on the podium, attempting to regain some semblance of control, while Santana's shackles are removed. Pierce signs her ownership papers quickly, tucks them into his back pocket, and stands in front of her, collar, leash, and restraints for her hands ready.

Any hope of being treated like a human and not a dog for once goes out the window as Pierce reties her hands in front of her and snaps the collar in place around her neck. It's filthy, the grime grating against her skin, and tight, restricting her air and circulation.

She doesn't dare tug on it.

Pierce leads Santana through the crowd with sharp tugs that make her stumble. Someone is brazen enough to grope her through her too-small shirt, and Santana feels her face flush with shame.

Life shouldn't be this way.

Santana had been born into slavery, the bastard child of a slave and a master too cowardly to claim his own daughter. He had sold Maribel while she was pregnant, citing illegal fraternization amongst his slaves that led her into pregnancy. She was bought by a man who'd raised Santana as his own. Strangely, Santana had thought of him as a father for years. She had thought of them as a family.

Until he had put a knife in both of their backs, hauling Maribel and a fifteen-year-old Santana to the auction block under false pretenses and selling them as two separate units.

Santana will never forget her mother's screams as Santana was bought and led away from her.

A new life. A year on the slave farm. A short, horrible string of masters that had succeed in breaking her.

Now eighteen, as far as she's concerned, this whole sex slave business could kiss the dirtiest part of her ass.

As she and Pierce break through the auction house doors, Santana inhales the summer air, feeling as though it may be the last time she ever does so. She'll no doubt be locked in another basement.

They reach Pierce's car, and she sneaks a look at him while he fumbles with his keys, waiting obediently for orders. He catches her stare and angrily jerks her towards him. "Don't eye me, girl," he mutters, placing his hand on her head to shove it down.

Santana swallows hard. He tugs her forward, grumbling something about her riding in the trunk instead. He pops the lid and pushes her inside, barely giving her time to flatten herself out before he slams it closed again.

If Santana thought it was hot in the auction house, it was nothing compared to the heat in the trunk of Pierce's car. Santana unsnaps her collar as sweat beads down her neck, fearing the dirty material would rub her neck raw and infect it. Her shirt clings to her worse than before. She bumps around as Pierce races over one speed bump after another, accidentally poking herself in her already black eye twice.

Sweat drips from her forehead and burns her eyes, and Santana wonders if Pierce might possibly be her last owner before she dies. Her masters have all been bad in their own rights, each having their own favorite ways of breaking a slave into submission – starvation, beatings, neglect – but, with the things she's heard around the slave farms and auction blocks, Santana wouldn't be surprised if Pierce was the type of man to go straight to the beatings.

She could possibly be beaten to death as soon as tonight, she realizes.

Would Pierce do that to a slave that he shelled out thirty thousand bucks for?

With no concept of time, Santana begins to think that she may just die right now from heat exhaustion. She had been given a small sip of water as she'd stepped out of the cargo truck earlier, but nothing since then, and her throat is parched. Her sweatpants make her sweat in places she'd never known she could sweat before, and her wrist restraints coupled with the sheen of sweat on her body rubs her wrists raw.

Finally, the car stops and the low hum of the engine desists. Santana scrabbles to snap the collar back on as the lid rises and Pierce comes into view. He tugs sharply on the leash and Santana stumbles onto solid ground once more. Pierce slams the lid, looks around the driveway for a moment, and then eyes Santana appraisingly. She looks down, wondering what he's suddenly so interested in; sweating so profusely has made her too-small white shirt completely transparent. It clings to her torso, giving Pierce a full show. Santana looks away in shame, but doesn't attempt to cover up.

Pierce grunts, and to Santana it sounds like approval. "Brittany will love it."

Santana draws her eyebrows together as she's led up to Pierce's home. Brittany? Was she Pierce's wife? Santana hadn't seen a ring on his finger, but she knows she could have missed it. Had Pierce bought her to fulfill some three-way fantasy he has?

Pierce pulls her into the house and chains the door behind him. It's a surprisingly small house for a man who had spent thirty thousand dollars without batting an eye. Santana had expected a mansion, or at least something other than a plain, two story house.

"Beast!" Pierce yells out, startling Santana.

_Wait_. Why was Pierce calling his wife a beast?

"Master?" Santana chances a glance to her right where the voice came from. The large woman standing in the doorway turns concerned eyes to Santana for a moment. Her face looks much like Santana's, bruised and battered. There's a large mark on the side of her face, like she'd recently been backhanded. If this is what Santana has to look forward to, she wishes she'd died in the trunk of the car.

"Where's Brittany?" Pierce demands. "Her car wasn't in the driveway."

"Finn Hudson picked the car up about an hour ago, sir." She clenches her dish cloth in her hands. "It wouldn't start yesterday-"

Pierce waves his hand, interrupting her. "I remember now," he mumbles. "Thank you, Shannon." Looking pleased at the use of her first name, the woman bows slightly before retreating back to the kitchen. Pierce jerks the leash and Santana obediently follows up the stairs, casting one last glance at the woman, who was now standing just in the kitchen doorway, nodding to her encouragingly.

Santana tries to take comfort in the fact that she's not the only slave in the Pierce household.

She's led to an open door. Pierce looks in briefly, cracks a wide, genuine smile, and grabs Santana by the back of her neck. Santana gasps in surprise as he tangles his fingers in her hair and forces her into the room and to her knees.

"Brittany!" He calls out. "Britt, look what daddy bought for you!" Pierce jerks Santana's head up and she winces as the pain explodes through her skull. She forces her eyes open.

Brittany – or who Santana assumes is Brittany – stands before her in a tank top and shorts. Her blonde hair is tied back, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes – the bluest eyes Santana has ever seen – are wide, almost as if she's afraid.

"Well, baby, what do you think?" When Brittany remains silent, Pierce kneels down to talk to Santana. "You will treat my daughter with respect. You will cater to her every wish, her every need. Do you understand?" Santana tries to nod, choosing to remain silent for fear that she would be speaking out of turn. Pierce tugs roughly on her hair and she emits a sharp cry, making Brittany jump. "Answer me."

"Yes," she rasps through clenched teeth. "I understand."

Pierce stands up and finally releases his hold on her. He steps around her now slumped form and wraps his hands around Brittany's biceps, forcing her to look at him. They look similar, Santana muses; they have the same mouth shape, the same eyes, and the same athletic posture. She marvels at the difference in how he handles Brittany, with love and care, like she might break at any moment, to the way he'd handled her moments ago, not giving a fuck about her well-being.

"She's yours, Britt," he says softly, and smoothes some errant hair away from Brittany's face. "You can do whatever you want with her. Happy late birthday, sweetheart."

Santana scowls at her lap as Pierce presses a kiss to the top of Brittany's head and leaves the room. Yeah, she would end up being a fucking birthday present. And a late one at that. Just fucking great.

The silence is heavy. Brittany hasn't spoken or moved, and Santana is terrified to lift her eyes from the floor.

Finally, Santana can see Brittany's feet shuffling closer, and she sits up a bit straighter, waiting for orders. They never come, however, as Brittany slips past her and out the door.

Santana slumps again; yeah, she would much rather be back on the slave farm.


	2. Chapter 2

******Author's Notes:** I've seen some concerns about the long pairings list that I included in the first chapter. I want to assure everyone that all of the other pairings will only be brief mentions, and all of those characters will only make a major appearance in one chapter. The pairing list in the summary has been updated to reflect that.

There's not much Brittana interaction yet, but it will definitely pick up in the next chapter, I promise.

I want to thank everyone for the reviews, follows, and favorites; you don't know how much they meant to me.

* * *

Santana's not quite sure how long she's on her knees, but when she feels gentle fingers on her shoulder she realizes that it wasn't nearly as long as she'd imagined. A hand appears in front of her face, and Santana slowly looks up.

The woman from the kitchen is smiling down at her kindly. "C'mon," she says. "Let's get you cleaned up." When Santana makes no move to take the offered hand, she kneels down and unsnaps Santana's collar. Santana sucks in air and rubs at her sore skin. The woman takes her hands away from her neck and begins to work on the ties around Santana's wrists. "I'm Shannon."

Santana watches Shannon work. She wonders where Pierce is, where Brittany is. There are no other sounds in the house, and she assumes that she and Shannon are now alone. She glances over her shoulder just in time to see Brittany breeze by; she doesn't look happy. Santana swallows hard and looks back to Shannon, whose fingers appear to be a bit too big to work Pierce's tight knots out of the ties. "Why did he call you a beast?" She asks quietly, her words grating against her dry throat.

Shannon pauses and looks at Santana curiously for a moment. When it dawns on her what Santana is referring to, she chuckles. "No, he wasn't calling me a beast." Santana furrows her eyebrows as Shannon stands to rummage through Brittany's desk drawers. She knows what she heard; Shannon telling her that she doesn't makes her kind of mad. Shannon turns back around, scissors in hand, and she must sense Santana's brewing attitude because she says, "It's my last name. B-e-i-s-t-e. Beiste."

Santana nods, accepting the answer even though she's not really sure of any other way to spell the word. Shannon doesn't need to know that, though. Shannon slips the blades of the scissors carefully under the ties and snips them off. "That's unfortunate," Santana finally says, and Shannon chuckles again, a bit darkly, and it's obvious that the way her name is oddly linked to her status hasn't escaped her. Santana chews her bottom lip and touches her wrists carefully in turn. She hears the ties hit the bottom of the waste basket near the desk, and this time when Shannon offers her hand, Santana takes it and allows herself to be hauled to her feet.

Shannon bats Santana's hands away as she begins to rub her wrists. "You'll make it worse." She turns to the dresser by the window and pulls out a gray pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt; both have the same letters on them, scrawled in red. Santana wishes she knew what they said. "We'll get you all cleaned up. What's your name, kid?" Santana studies Shannon as she pulls light blue, duck printed undergarments from a different drawer. She looks around, taking in the light colors of the room, the breeze filtering through the open window, the movies and CDs and stuffed animals littering the flat surfaces. "If you don't tell me your name, I'm going to keep calling you 'kid'," Shannon warns lightly.

Santana jumps slightly, having almost forgotten that she wasn't alone, and snaps her attention back to Shannon, who seems worried that she actually might not have a name. "I'm Santana. Santana Lopez."

Shannon smiles and nods. "Well, Santana, I think Brittany drew you a bath, so we should get you cleaned up."

Shannon leads her into the hallway. Santana looks around and trains her ears, but, just as before, there isn't a sound to be heard. She tries to pay attention to what Shannon's saying, but Santana can't keep her mind from wandering. Pierce had told Brittany plainly that Santana belonged to her, but Pierce had signed her papers. Who then, exactly, was Santana's master? Did she take orders from Brittany, Pierce, or from the both of them?

She's pretty sure she already knows what kind of master Pierce is, but Brittany's a mystery. Before today, Santana had thought that Pierce was somewhat of a loner; he never appeared to talk to anyone at the auctions, and Santana knows that if she'd seen Brittany before she would have definitely remembered.

Brittany hadn't said a word to her, had barely even looked at her before walking out. Santana thinks that, if she could categorize masters, and based on the masters she's had in the past, Brittany would definitely fall under neglectful. When she was bought by her first master, he had immediately thrown her into the basement and had left her there for two days, only coming to check on her when he'd heard her trying to smash a window to escape.

Santana pictures Brittany doing that once she's cleaned up.

Santana's brought back to reality when her bare feet leave carpet and touch cold tile, just in time to hear Shannon tell her that Pierce left for work, so she doesn't have to worry about him. Santana breathes a relieved sigh and looks to the full bathtub, lined with assorted soaps and shampoos. She supposes this is strictly Brittany's bathroom.

"Use anything you want," Shannon offers, but before she can slip out the door, Santana turns to her.

"Can I ask you something?" Shannon nods. Santana pulls her hands up in front of her stomach and fiddles with her fingers, afraid of the answer to her question. "Who is my master?" The words make her stomach churn. "I'm…a bit confused."

Shannon takes a quick look down the hall, then closes the door silently. "Well, Brian is my master." Santana frowns curiously, wondering if Shannon is regularly allowed to call Pierce by his first name, or if it just slips sometimes. "He bought you for Brittany because…"

When Shannon trails off, Santana attempts to fill in with, "Because it was her birthday."

Shannon offers a tight lipped smile, but moves on. "So Brittany's your master…or mistress. But I'm not sure how Brian will handle this since he signed your papers and not her." Her answer doesn't ease Santana's confusion, and Shannon seems to understand. "Take orders from Brittany. Keep your ears open around Brian. Just in case."

"Thank you," Santana whispers.

Shannon nods and opens the door, but before she steps out she says, "Brittany…doesn't talk much. So I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Then Shannon's gone, the door is closed, and Santana stands a bit stunned. Brittany doesn't talk? To anyone? To Santana she had looked like a girl who could go on for hours about the tiniest things. Shannon made it sound as though what Santana had mistaken for rudeness and neglect was actually something much, much deeper.

_Great. Household drama,_ she thinks as she pulls her drying shirt over her head and drops it into a pile with her sweatpants. _Figures I'd walk right into a soap opera._

Santana sighs when her toes touch the water; it's cool, exactly what she needs. Santana decides to enjoy every second of it, because there's no telling when she'll be allowed to bathe again. She wets her hair and rubs in a generous portion of fruity shampoo – she can't read the label, but there's a strawberry on it and it smells amazing – and massages the back of her head where Pierce had held her.

Just as she finishes washing the shampoo out, the door creaks open slowly and Brittany slips in, towel in hand. Against her better judgment, Santana tenses and pulls her knees to her chest protectively; the last time she had tried to bathe, her master had held her under the water until she blacked out. Brittany drops the towel on the closed toilet lid and pulls a wash cloth from it's folds.

Santana wonders is she's supposed to bathe Brittany when she's done, wonders if the Pierce's didn't use slaves for sex, but as servants.

She'd be completely okay with that; she's had her fill of being violated.

Brittany steps closer and extends her hand, silently offering the wash cloth to Santana. Santana hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking from Brittany's face - _her beautiful fucking face_, Santana thinks – to the wash cloth, before she finally reaches out a trembling hand to take it. She holds it limply, feeling stupid that she's not exactly sure what she's expected to do. Is this an invitation to wash herself, or some weird test of her obedience?

Brittany studies her for a moment. Her gaze isn't judging and it doesn't seem as though she's attempting to get off on the image of Santana. It's none of the things Santana is used to. She's curious, and Santana can't help but watch as Brittany's eyes flit over her red wrists, her split lip, and her black eye.

Brittany catches her eye, and Santana flinches, expecting her head to be shoved down violently; slaves don't make eye contact unless they're told to. Instead, Brittany turns her body slightly to open and dig through the medicine cabinet. Santana takes a deep, steadying breath and uses the opportunity to quickly wash herself off. Once Brittany is finished in the medicine cabinet, she closes it and bends to pull something from under the sink. Depositing her findings beside the pile of clothes Shannon left, Brittany picks up the towel and unfurls it. She holds it up and looks at Santana expectantly.

Reluctantly, Santana lifts herself out of the tub and stands in front of Brittany, dripping water everywhere and awaiting instructions. Brittany steps forward and motions for Santana to lift her arms, which she does immediately; this, she thinks, is the hardest part…learning how to be exposed to a complete stranger all over again.

Expecting to be prodded, touched, inspected, and groped, Santana is pleasantly surprised to feel nothing but the fluffy green towel and Brittany's soft knuckles touch her skin as she tucks the towel closed. Brittany guides her gently to sit on the toilet lid. She touches Santana's chin gently and turns Santana's head to inspect her eye. She exhales heavily through her nose and holds up her index finger before slipping out the door once more. Santana bounces her foot nervously, unsure of what to do. Brittany's only gone a minute, though, sparing Santana from driving herself crazy wondering what is happening.

Really, who's the slave and who's the master around here anyway?

Brittany holds a plastic baggie full of ice, and she presses it gently to Santana's eye. Santana tries to hold in her displeased hiss, but it bleeds through her gritted teeth against her will. She flinches when Brittany grabs for her hand, fearing punishment, but Brittany just presses it against the bag, silently asking Santana to hold it herself.

With both of her hands now free, Brittany takes her other supplies into her lap. "I'm Brittany," she says quietly, and her voice is so sweet, so innocent, that Santana almost smiles.

Almost.

"Santana," she whispers. Brittany seems to mull her name over, then nods her approval and returns her attention to her supplies. "Mistress-"

Brittany holds up a hand, cotton ball pinched between her thumb and index finger, stopping Santana's words. "Don't," she says simply, and Santana swallows thickly and nods, ashamed that she's spoken out of turn and obviously upset Brittany. Brittany dabs something onto the cotton ball and brings it close to Santana's face. "This is going to sting," she warns. She waits. It takes Santana a moment to realize that she's waiting for permission to do what she wants, and it makes her heart hurt as she nods.

Brittany presses the cotton ball to Santana's split lip and she's right; it burns like hell, but Santana's almost too caught up in Brittany's eyes and her own racing thoughts to notice.

What exactly is Brittany's deal? She should be breaking Santana in, beating her into submission or using Santana's body to fulfill her own needs. She's not supposed to be tending to Santana, letting her bathe and treating her wounds. This isn't master protocol, and to be honest, Santana's skeptical. It has to be a trick, a different technique for breaking her; she'll let her guard down, then when she least expects it-

Brittany stands, breaking Santana from her thoughts. Santana looks to the floor, refusing to make eye contact, and she feels fingers brush her bare shoulder gently. Santana lifts her head, but doesn't look directly at Brittany. Brittany ghosts her fingers over Santana's jaw, and Santana suppresses a shiver, but takes it as silent permission to make eye contact.

Brittany lifts the corners of her mouth slightly, but when her attempt at a smile fails, she looks down to her own wrist. Curious, Santana flicks her eyes down also. Brittany pulls a thin hair band from her wrist and holds it up for Santana to take. Once Santana's fingers close around the object, Brittany gestures invitingly to the pile of clothes beside Santana, picks up her old discarded ones, and leaves, making sure to lock the door behind her.

Santana pulls the ice pack from her eye and stares at the hair tie in her hand for a moment. It's been years since she'd had her hair pulled back; she's not even sure she could do it on her own. Santana tosses the tie to the side, quickly dries her body, and slips into the clothes. They're a tad big on her, but it's a welcome contrast to the skin tight shirt that she'd worn earlier. Santana throws the towel into what appears to be the clothes hamper and pulls the drain in the tub.

Santana slips the hair tie Brittany had given her over her own wrist and assesses her face in the mirror. The ice has made the swelling in her eye lessen considerably. Her lip looks bad, possibly slightly infected, but whatever medication Brittany had applied to it has made the cut stop throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She rakes her fingers through her hair, attempting to at least partially untangle it.

If Santana's being honest with herself, she knows she's scared, more so than usual. Bouncing from master to master becomes less and less of a big deal the more you do it. When you think about it, masters are usually all the same. Sure, they have different techniques, but they all ultimately add up to the same rules and treatment. All shout orders from the beginning, teaching the rules, punishing when the rules are broken. But Brittany…shell barely speak at all, let alone give Santana orders.

What if she does something wrong unintentionally?

Santana sighs heavily and steps into the hallway. She's not sure if she should go back to Brittany's room or go downstairs. She wasn't really paying attention on the way to the bathroom, and she's not exactly sure which of the closed doors is Brittany's. She pads carefully to the stairs and peers down. She can hear Shannon rattling around, and she figures it's okay to at least go down and see what she's supposed to do.

"There she is," Shannon says when she spies Santana stepping off the bottom stair. Brittany is sitting at the table, tracing patterns on the wood with her finger, seemingly in a different world. At her feet sits the chubbiest cat Santana's ever seen. "Are you hungry, kid?" Without waiting for an answer, Shannon gestures to the chair across from Brittany with her spatula. Santana looks to Brittany for direction, but she hasn't looked up. Hesitantly, Santana sits on the very edge of the chair. Shannon points the spatula at Brittany. "This one just polished off two grilled cheeses and wants another. How do you like yours?"

Santana turns alarmed eyes to Brittany, wondering where the girl put all that food. Then, she looks to Shannon and shrugs helplessly; she hasn't had grilled cheese in years, and she's not positive about how her mother used to make it.

Shannon nods. "I'll just make it the same as Britt's." Santana laces her fingers in her lap and keeps her eyes on them until her plate is in front of her. When she looks up, Brittany has already eaten almost half of her own. She motions for Santana to eat.

Santana takes a couple of bites, trying to keep her eyes on Brittany for any signs of displeasure with her behavior. Eventually, her hunger gets the best of her, and before Santana knows it her first sandwich is gone and another is dropped onto her plate, accompanied by a chuckle and murmurs of being eaten out of house and home from Shannon. Shannon sets a glass of blue liquid in front of her – Santana thinks it might be Kool-Aid – and Santana eyes it. Brittany reaches over and pushes it closer with one finger, and Santana grabs it and gulps the juice. She hadn't realized just how thirsty she was. Shannon refills her glass with another laugh.

Just as Santana is picking up her second sandwich, she hears Brittany click her tongue twice; Santana drops her sandwich and sits up straight and at attention. She's used to being addressed in such a way, like she's a dog.

Which, she guesses, is exactly what she is to these people.

From the stove, Shannon whips her head around, eyes wide. Santana's eyes land on Brittany, but Brittany isn't looking back at her. She's breaking off a small chunk of grilled cheese and offering it to the cat at her feet with a smile. It's the first smile she's seen Brittany succeed in plastering on her face, and Santana wishes she had a camera because it's so beautiful and so infectious that Santana finds herself wanting to smile too.

Santana looks to Shannon next. Shannon looks a bit panicked, and Santana realizes that she didn't want Santana to take Brittany's call for her cat as a call for her own attention. Shannon shoots her a reassuring smile, then looks back to Brittany. "Britt," she scolds lightly, and Brittany's hands fly to her lap. She looks to Shannon, and the woman gives her a look that makes her redden. She returns to her lunch looking like a scorned child.

A minute passes; Santana finishes her sandwich as Shannon makes her own lunch and cleans up a bit. Brittany eyes Shannon from the corner of her eye and discretely rips off another bit of her sandwich. Santana can't hold back her small smile when Brittany sneakily hands it to the cat, returning her hand to the table just as Shannon turns around.

"So, what are you up to the rest of the day?" Shannon asks curiously before biting into her grilled cheese. Santana's not quite sure who she's talking to since she wasn't really looking at either of them. When Shannon doesn't get a response, she glances at Brittany. "Going to Mike's?" Her voice is hopeful, and when Brittany shakes her head, Shannon tries again. "Rachel's?" Another shake of Brittany's head. "Puck's? Finn should have your car back by dinner. I think it'd be good if you got out of the house for a bit." Brittany frowns in Shannon's direction. Santana mirrors the expression; Shannon's motherly behavior baffles her. Is Shannon Pierce's slave and Brittany's mom? Shannon sighs. "At least go out into the backyard for a bit," she offers before dropping the subject entirely.

Brittany drops her last sandwich half onto her plate and pushes her chair back. Followed by her waddling cat, Brittany opens the sliding glass door and slips onto the back deck. Santana watches as she plops down on the top step and pulls the cat into her lap.

Feeling a bit braver since it's just her and Shannon, Santana asks, "Why doesn't she speak much?"

Shannon sips her water for a moment. "We're not really sure," she says finally. "It's been this way ever since she was 15."

Santana traces the rim of her plate. "What happened?"

Shannon takes longer to answer this time, and Santana's eyes never leave Brittany's back. Finally, after Santana's sure that Shannon has mulled over whether she can be trusted or not, she says, "She lost her mother."

Santana feels her breath catch and all she can manage to say is, "Oh." She's always assumed that masters and slaves had absolutely nothing in common, but as it turns out, she and Brittany are similar in one very, very big way.

"Why don't you go keep her company?" Shannon suggests softly. She begins to clear the table. "She won't say much, but she likes having friends around. Plus, you look like some fresh air would do you some good." Santana nods and stands, completely unsure of what she'd do once she got out there. She's not Brittany's friend. She's her slave. How is she supposed to help the girl, other than her intended purpose? "Oh, Santana?" Shannon calls when Santana's hand is on the door handle. "Don't worry; you're safe with Brittany. Just sit with her."

There's an odd shimmer in Shannon's eyes, almost like unshed tears and a little bit of pride, but Santana doesn't acknowledge the words as she opens the door. Brittany's a master; no slave is safe with masters. She walks slowly towards Brittany, giving the girl time to tell her to fuck off if she wants. The heat from the deck burns her feet, but she's too distracted by the wonderful breeze whipping her hair to notice. She drops down beside Brittany silently, leaving as much space between them as the railings will allow.

The cat in Brittany's lap turns to her abruptly and clambers into her lap. Panicking a bit, Santana freezes; she's never held an animal before.

Brittany reaches over and scratches behind its ears. "This is Lord Tubbington," she says quietly. Santana narrows her eyes at the strange, yet oddly appropriate name. She can't help but wonder if the Lord part is because he's the pet of a master, or if it's just coincidence. She runs a hesitant hand over his back. "Tubbs," Brittany continues. "This is Santana." Lord what's-his-name looks up at Santana, wholly unimpressed, and jumps to the ground to chase a butterfly.

They sit in total silence for hours, listening to the birds chirping and the cars passing on the other side of the house. Santana finds that she doesn't mind Brittany's company; the longer they sit, the less tense she is. She forgets, for just a few sweet moments, that she's supposed to be keeping her ears open for any orders. Instead, she allows herself to enjoy being outside without being leashed to a stake. She breathes the fresh air and closes her eyes and just sits with Brittany quietly. It's comfortable, a type of silence that Santana is unaccustomed to; usually when it's silent, she's waiting for yelling and barked orders and flying fists while cower in a corner in fear.

It's hard for her to believe that a week ago that was her life, and now she's sitting calmly with her master, who happens to be a beautiful woman.

It almost makes her cry tears of happiness.

Shannon had said that she was safe with Brittany; now, Santana thinks she might believe it. Brittany doesn't seem like she could violently backhand Santana without a second thought. She doesn't look like a person who could yell at Santana for hours about everything she isn't doing right.

When the sun is barely giving them light, Shannon calls them in for dinner.

While Brittany seems pretty mellow, Pierce is an entirely different story. When he arrives home in the middle of dinner, dropping a kiss to the top of Brittany's head and mumbling about an idiotic Finn Hudson, the air in the room becomes heavy with tension.

Santana sits stiff beside Brittany, pushing her food around her plate. Pierce is busy bitching about work and has yet to address her presence, so she doesn't want to draw attention to herself.

"What is this?" He demands when Shannon sets is plate in front of him. Santana sees Brittany stiffen from the corner of her eye.

Shannon flinches. "Master, its meat-"

"Didn't I specifically tell you to make spaghetti? This is a special day for Brittany, and spaghetti is her favorite!"

Brittany whimpers softly, and Santana thinks that maybe she's the only one who's heard her. She wonders how often this happens; she thinks she knows what comes next.

Shannon opens her mouth to respond, but Pierce beats her to it. "Britt, take your mutt upstairs and find something to do."

"Dad, please don't-"

"Now, Brittany."

Brittany looks to Shannon, her eyes wide and glassy, and Shannon smiles for her sake, nodding to let her know that it's okay. She looks at Santana, silently begging her with her eyes to go with Brittany, to look after her. Santana hurries to catch up to Brittany, and before they're even halfway up the stairs a sharp smack is heard and is soon followed by another. Brittany picks up her pace, barely giving Santana time to enter her room before she slams and locks the door.

Brittany presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and a small sob rips from her body. Santana stands awkwardly; there's no way that she can make this better, and she's afraid that, if she tries, Brittany will lash out and hit her too.

Completely ignoring Santana, Brittany rips her shirt over her head and lets her shorts pool around her ankles. Santana's muscles go rigid and she waits to be told to undress too. Of course Brittany would wait until they were completely alone to use her in this way. She won't fight it; she'll let it happen, and when Brittany's finished with her body, she'll curl into a ball.

It's no different than anything she's experienced since she was 15.

She watches Brittany stalk to the dresser and pull out a pair of sweatpants identical to her own and a red shirt with white letters on it. She pulls on both items of clothing, and Santana relaxes, feeling a bit lightheaded with relief.

She won't be violated tonight.

Brittany slides into bed and faces the wall. She lies still for a moment before rolling over to turn off her lamp. She jumps a bit, as if she'd forgotten that Santana was there too.

"I…" She begins, but trails off. She looks embarrassed, and if Santana hadn't just witnessed the same thing as she did, she'd say it was because she'd forgotten Santana. But she knows; Brittany's embarrassed of her father, the way he's treating Shannon at this moment, and Santana knows that Brittany probably blames herself. "I don't know…" Finally, she resigns her attempts to find something to say and settles for lifting her blankets up, silently encouraging Santana to join her. Santana climbs in silently, and turns off the lamp since she's closest.

Down stairs, she can still hear Pierce and Shannon, the yelling and the beating. She turns her head to Brittany; she's trembling, her hands are covering her ears and she's humming softly. Santana reaches a cautious hand out and lays it flat on Brittany's back, between her shoulder blades. It takes a moment, but Brittany's trembling stops.

Santana closes her eyes and hums along with Brittany, trying to drown out the sounds. Together, they drift off.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Once again, thank all of you for the reviews, favorites, and follows; they make me ridiculously happy.

* * *

It's still dark when Santana jolts awake, the remnants of a night terror making the hands that move to push her hair from her face quake. Her spine had tingled oddly, and something had told her that someone was reaching for her. When she had cracked her eyes open, a large figure had appeared to be looming over her and, startled, she'd jumped.

Santana pulls her knees up to rest her elbows on them. Her hands catch her head as it falls forward and she tries to catch the breath that had been knocked from her in her panic. She knows she's being paranoid, but it had seemed so real.

Somewhere in the house a door slams and the body beside Santana shifts. She turns her head slightly to stare at Brittany; she's half on her back and half on her side, facing Santana, and her arms are stretched in front of her, like she'd been grabbing for Santana. Santana huffs slightly; that's the feeling she'd gotten, Brittany reaching for her in her sleep. If Santana were lying down, the moon light would be shining directly on the bed, on Brittany.

Santana hasn't met many people in her life – it's hard to meet people when you're locked in a basement – but of those she has met, Santana thinks that Brittany may be the prettiest. She lays back and studies Brittany's profile, the way her nose scrunches up in displeasure when the moon shines directly on her face, the way her chest rises and falls, and the way her lips part ever so slightly before she lets out a quiet mumble that sounds suspiciously like, "too bright."

Santana kind of wants to reach over and brush the hair from Brittany's forehead, but she can't, so to resist the urge she rises from the bed and tip-toes to the window. She takes a few seconds to look out at the front yard. The neighborhood is quiet at night, other than an occasional barking dog. It's so very unlike a lot of the places Santana has lived before. It's almost too quiet for her.

Silently, she draws the curtains together and returns to the bed. Brittany shifts to lie completely on her side, facing Santana and mumbles, "Thankies."

Santana smiles a bit and closes her eyes.

* * *

Even with the curtains closed, the next time Santana opens her eyes the room is considerably brighter.

And this time, there _is_ a large body looming over her.

Santana jumps, and Pierce stares at her like he can't quite comprehend just why she's sleeping _in_ the bed and not _under_ it. Santana realizes that her hand, the one lying beside her head, is clasped loosely with Brittany's. She immediately lets go and averts her eyes; after what she'd witnessed happen to Shannon, she doesn't want to take her chances. If possible, she's even more afraid of him than she was when he'd bought her. After a long minute – during which Santana forgets how to breathe – Pierce leans over her and presses a kiss to Brittany's temple. He doesn't spare another glance at Santana as he leaves the room.

* * *

It's not long after Pierce leaves that Brittany wakes up. Santana watches her from the corner of her eye and she blinks sleepily a few times, then rubs her eyes. Brittany yawns, then settles her eyes on Santana, and Santana unintentionally draw into herself a bit. She looks to the ceiling so that she doesn't have to watch Brittany watching her.

Santana expects orders to fall from Brittany's mouth, to be told to get dressed or to help Brittany dress herself. Instead, Brittany sighs quietly – it sounds a lot like irritation to Santana – and climbs over Santana. For the brief second that Brittany is on top of her, straddling her, Santana squeezes her eyes shut tightly. This is it, she thinks, the moment that Brittany takes her body and shows her who is in charge. Brittany is the master; Santana is the slave. She'd had it easy yesterday, but it's time to re-learn the rules.

Brittany's weight disappears and Santana's eyes slide open hesitantly. Brittany's walked to her closet and is pulling a pair of jeans from a hanger. Santana breathes out and swings her legs off of the bed. She stands and stretches her muscles out. She licks her lips slowly, she thinks about how lucky she is to be spared for now, and she moves to stand a few feet from the closet.

She gulps, knowing that she's taking a huge risk by speaking before being spoken to, and musters up her courage. "What would you have me do, mistress?"

Brittany whips around to face her, and Santana's so startled at the sudden action that she takes a step back. Brittany glares at her. When she's finished in the closet, she thrusts a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top into Santana's hands. "Don't," Brittany repeats the word she'd uttered yesterday with a bit more force.

Santana hugs the clothes to her chest and nods, not really knowing what it is that she's doing wrong, what it is that makes Brittany so angry. She's only asking for orders. She wants to please Brittany; she wants to stay out of trouble.

Brittany hurriedly shucks out of her pajamas and pulls the jeans over her narrow hips. A t-shirt follows and she opens the top drawer of her dresser and pulls out a blue and purple knit beanie. Santana watches her put the beanie on her head and pull on the pom on the top a few times to situate it just so. Santana thinks its way too hot to be wearing such a thing, but it somehow makes Brittany more attractive, and she keeps her mouth shut.

Brittany looks back to Santana, her eyes widening a bit, and it seems to Santana that Brittany always forgets for a split second that she's not alone in the room. Santana wonders how long it will take for them to get used to each other.

Brittany waves towards the dresser – specifically the second and third drawers – and says, "Um…help yourself." Then, she slips out the door and disappears down the hall. Santana waits until Brittany's footsteps have faded down the stairs before she pulls off the clothes she'd slept in and replaces them with the ones in her hands. The shorts are way too big, and she has to tie them to get them to stay on her waist.

Santana bypasses the dresser; Brittany had given her permission to wear anything in there, but Santana still feels as though she'd be overstepping if she rummaged through the drawers without Brittany present. When she gets to the kitchen, Shannon is leaning against the counter, fanning herself with a partially open newspaper. Her face is a bit more bruised than it had been the night before, but she seems otherwise unharmed. When she spots Santana, her face reddens a bit, obviously embarrassed about the events of last night. Santana tries her best to offer a smile, but Shannon looks so sad and she herself is so scared, and she just can't push away the thought that, if she were as large as Shannon, she would most definitely fight back. A smile just doesn't seem to cut it.

"Morning, kid," Shannon says. Santana's a bit annoyed that Shannon continues to call her that, even after she'd said she would stop when she learned her name, but she waves awkwardly anyways. She looks around for Brittany. She spots her through the sliding glass door, calling her cat in from the backyard. Santana turns her eyes back to Shannon when she asks, "How'd you sleep?"

Santana shrugs and says, "Pretty good." And it's not a lie; aside from her night terror, she'd slept better than she had in years, but she doesn't exactly want to say that. Instead, she changes the subject. "Are…are you okay?"

Shannon waves a hand, dismissing the question as the door slides open and Brittany skips in with Lord Tubbington. "Breakfast isn't quite ready, so you guys should go watch TV or something."

Santana glances one last time at Shannon, who seems to feel fine, before following Brittany into the living room. Gingerly, she sits on the opposite side of the couch and watches as Brittany flips channels until she finds a cartoon. They sit quietly, and Santana can't keep her eyes from sliding to Brittany every time the girl lets a giggle slip.

She wishes Brittany would speak. Not only because the quiet make her anxious, but she has to admit that she likes Brittany's voice. It's unlike any sound that she's ever heard, so sweet and filled with curiosity; she's never been so captivated by someone before, so scared yet so comfortable.

When Brittany lets loose with an uncontrolled string of giggles, Santana opens her mouth and says, "Mistress-"

"What's your favorite color?"

Santana blinks and glances around the room. Was Brittany speaking to her? Seeing no one else, she turns her head back to Brittany. Brittany is staring at her, her face devoid of any emotion other than curiosity. Santana swallows, realizing she's forgotten the question. "Um…what?" She winces at the stupidity that will no doubt get her punished, or at least scoffed at.

"Your favorite color," Brittany says quietly. "What is it?"

Santana shakes her head; she's never really thought about it before. "R-red, I suppose," she stutters out. "Or purple."

Brittany's eyes dip below Santana's neck for a millisecond before she nods and returns her attention to the television. Santana pulls at her fingers, wondering what Brittany had been looking for in that last glance, if she'd found whatever it was, if she'd liked it.

"I like yellow," Brittany mutters before Santana can even think to return the question.

Santana stares at Brittany. "Yellow is…really pretty." She hopes that Brittany doesn't realize that she isn't referring to colors anymore; flirting with her master is not on the list of things that she should currently be doing.

Brittany's eyes glide over to her and this time she manages the smile that she'd been failing at. "So is red. And purple."

Santana snaps her gaze back to the television, her face heating slightly; she's been caught. Brittany had fully picked up what she had thrown down, and now Santana's embarrassed, even if Brittany had returned it to her.

From the center cushion, Lord Tubbington slams his paw down on Santana's thigh, and Santana jumps.

"He likes you." Santana looks dubiously at Brittany.

"Mistress-"

"My name is Brittany!" Santana's face falls at Brittany's outburst, and Brittany frowns deeply at her.

Santana swallows. "You don't want your slaves to call you 'mistress'?"

Brittany's frown, if possible, deepens. Santana tries to sink into the couch. "You're not my slave," Brittany says, her voice angry but still so quiet.

Santana furrows her eyebrows. If she's not Brittany's slave, then that means that she's obviously Pierce's, and that's just plain terrifying. "But your father said-"

"I don't care what he says!" Her voice is louder this time, and when she stands abruptly, Santana's arms reflexively fly up to shield her face.

"Brittany!" Shannon's startled voice makes Santana lower her arms to look to the entryway. Shannon looks upset as her eyes find Santana's cowered form. Santana's eyes flash up to Brittany. There are a range of emotions covering her face; guilt, shock, confusion, and Santana realizes that Brittany's not quite sure what's going on.

"Britt, breakfast is ready," Shannon says, leaving no room for argument. When Brittany's out of the room, Shannon motions for Santana to come to her. "Are you okay?"

Santana's knees tremble and she has to hold onto Shannon for a minute to stand properly. "I…I made her mad," she whispers.

Shannon smiles sadly at her. "Britt doesn't get angry easily; you deserve a medal."

When it becomes apparent that her joke had fallen flat, Shannon ushers Santana into the kitchen where a full plate is waiting for her across from Brittany.

"You want to tell me what happened in there?" Shannon asks Brittany seriously.

Other than giving a glare from the corner of her eye, Brittany ignores Shannon and continues to push food around her plate. When Brittany notices that Santana hasn't even touched her plate, she looks up. "I'm sorry," she says softly, and waits for a response.

Santana looks down and away and nods, silently accepting the unnecessary apology. Brittany resumes picking at her food.

Santana can't help but feel as if she's missing something.

* * *

Later, when Pierce returns home from work, he immediately sees that Brittany is upset. He yells at Santana for failing to please his daughter. He rants and paces and threatens everything from locking Santana in the basement to burying her alive, but he doesn't lay a finger on her.

When it becomes obvious that the entire episode has made Brittany even more upset, Shannon quietly dismisses them both from the table.

They dress for bed in silence and Santana listens to Brittany's quiet sniffling for a long time before her breathing finally evens out.

Santana stares at the ceiling, her ears still ringing unpleasantly from dinner. Pierce's words and insults bounce in her head; her heart aches as she remembers 'whore' and 'filth' but what had really gotten under her skin was Pierce's accusations that she'd failed to make Brittany happy. It's not like she's not trying, but whenever she so much as speaks to Brittany she's basically being told to shut up. How exactly is she supposed to satisfy her master without orders?

Santana's so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn't notice when Brittany rolls to face her, and starts at the murmured, "I'm sorry." Santana swallows but remains silent; she hasn't been given permission to speak. She feels Brittany's warm fingertips brush the back of her hand for a second. "He wasn't always mean."

Santana turns her head a bit to meet Brittany's stare. They've forgotten to close the curtains again, and the moon makes it easy to see Brittany's face. She's not sure what it is, but being with Brittany feels okay; it feels different, a good different despite the mix up before breakfast; it's something that she hasn't felt in years, something she can't quite put her finger on.

But one thing she knows for sure is that she _likes_ Brittany.

"You're really quiet," Brittany says, and Santana wants to remind Brittany that, one, so is she, and two, every time she tries to speak, Brittany tells her not to, but she doesn't dare. Brittany stares at her, searching, and Santana thinks that maybe Brittany can read her like a book because she follows up with, "You don't need permission to talk. I don't…"

She trails off and bites her lip like she's afraid of the words that she's not saying. Santana rolls to face Brittany, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You don't what?"

Brittany's lip slides from between her teeth and she shakes her head. "Goodnight, Santana." Then, she rolls to face the wall.

Santana spends most of the night staring at her back.

* * *

The next day, Saturday, Brittany skips breakfast and goes straight for her car keys, saying something about a lima bean. Santana stands awkwardly by the stairs, unsure of whether Brittany will take her or leave her with Pierce and Shannon. Pierce jumps up from his breakfast and grabs the collar and leash that he'd had on Santana before from the coat closet. He snaps the collar around Santana's neck and jerks her towards Brittany.

"Take your mutt," he says. He pushes the leash into Brittany's hand, and Brittany holds it loosely. He pulls Brittany to him and kisses her forehead. "Drive safe."

Brittany leads Santana to the passenger door of her car, and Santana looks towards the trunk, hoping that she won't somehow end up there again as she risks tugging on the tight collar. Brittany gestures to the passenger seat when Santana looks back at her for directions. Hesitantly, Santana sits down and Brittany closes the door behind her.

Brittany starts the car and the radio blares to life, making Santana wince. Brittany must notice, because she reaches over and turns the upbeat pop song down. Santana looks at her thankfully as Brittany backs out of the driveway. They drive for a few minutes, and Brittany pulls the car over. Santana looks around, wondering where they are; it's just another neighborhood, similar to Brittany's. Then, Brittany reaches over, startling Santana, and unsnaps the collar. Santana rubs at her neck and watches Brittany roll her window down and toss the leash and collar into the street.

Santana looks to Brittany, her mouth falling open. "What-"

"What kind of music do you like?"

Santana deflates. "I don't know," she whispers. "I've never…" She doesn't finish, though, and Brittany nods. She turns the radio up a bit and drums her fingers on the steering wheel as she pulls them back into the street. Santana bites her lip and watches the collar and leash disappear in the side mirror. "Thank you," she says quietly.

Brittany doesn't answer her.

* * *

As it turns out, the Lima Bean is not, in fact a food, but a coffee shop, which Santana supposes makes some kind of strange sense. When they enter the building, Santana drops her head and uses her hair to hide her face. She hears a male voice greet Brittany from behind the counter before Brittany orders two coffees and two double chocolate chip muffins.

"So who's your friend?" The male asks. Brittany nudges Santana, and Santana looks up to the face of Michael and Julia Chang's son. "Wow," he says, staring openly at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You look…really familiar."

"This is Santana," Brittany says. "She's…my dad…well, you know." She waves her hand at the vague statement.

Realization seems to dawn on him, and he looks sympathetically, not at Santana, but at Brittany. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Santana." He sticks his hand out over the counter. "I'm Mike."

Cautiously, Santana takes Mike's hand and allows him to shake it. Not knowing what to say, though, she remains silent. Brittany points to a table and hands Santana the muffin and coffee that she'd bought for her. Santana sits, and waits for Brittany to finish her conversation with Mike.

Mike seems really sweet, Santana thinks. It hadn't seemed to matter to him that she's a slave, and she's thrown back to a few days ago when she'd watched him lead Tina off of the auction block like she was a regular person, a friend even. But she can't get past the look that he'd given Brittany, that seemed to say _I'm sorry you're stuck with her_.

A man passes behind her and bumps her head, and though she knows it was probably an accident, she shrinks into herself. Santana looks around, feeling self-conscious. She feels as though everyone's eyes are on her, though she's not sure why; these people don't know she's a slave. There are a few here, but unlike them, Santana isn't wearing a collar and leash. There's nothing that screams _slave_, yet she feels like everyone knows, like everyone is waiting to take advantage of her.

Santana hears Brittany sit down across from her as Sue Sylvester enters and yells her order at Mike through her megaphone. Brittany pushes Santana's untouched coffee and muffin closer to her, encouraging her slightly.

They eat in silence.

* * *

The rest of the day is extremely awkward between them. Santana doesn't know what Brittany and Mike had talked about, but it seems to have shifted Brittany's somber mood for the worst. Brittany doesn't even speak to Shannon when they arrive home, and she barely eats any dinner.

After Santana bathes, she returns to Brittany's room. Brittany is sitting in her desk chair, typing on her laptop. Santana sits on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her fingers, and after a minute Brittany spins to face her.

"Look," she says around a loud exhale. "You don't want to be here, I don't want you to be here, so Monday I'll get dad to take you up to the auction block, and you can go home with someone who will want you."

Santana panics as Brittany turns back to her computer. Brittany doesn't want her? She's going to send her away? For what?

"Please don't." Brittany spins to face her again, and Santana pulls her lips into her mouth. She's not sure what had come over her, only that she didn't _want_ to go anywhere else. She knows she could be punished for that outburst, but she thinks it might be worth it if she can stay with Brittany.

"What?" When Santana doesn't respond, Brittany rolls her chair a little closer. "You…don't want to leave?"

Santana shakes her head, and Brittany motions for her to speak. "I…I know you don't want me here." Santana pulls her knees to her chest as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. "But…my last master…he would beat me into submission. Then he would have his way with me, and then beat me again. For the fun of it. I wasn't allowed to eat for days, or bathe for weeks." Santana manages to tear her eyes away from the carpet long enough to judge whether or not she'll be allowed to continue. When she sees Brittany staring at her curiously, she speaks again. "On the rare occasion that I was allowed out of the house, I had to be tied to a stake. My first master…in the three months that he owned me, I had a total of two meals. I was chained to a pipe in the basement with nothing to lie on but a bath towel, and he came down to beat me and take care of his…urges."

"Santana-"

"When I'm here," Santana continues over Brittany before she loses her nerve or her tears make it impossible to speak. "When I'm with you…even though we don't talk…I feel human. I feel…equal. You feed me and let me bathe and sleep in your bed. You buy me coffee, and you threw that leash and collar away." Brittany looks down at her feet and tugs on the poms of the beanie that she's wearing. "I…I don't feel like a slave. At all. So please…please don't send me away."

When Santana doesn't get a response, she looks up, tears finally slipping down her cheeks. Brittany meets her eyes and nods her head. "Okay," she says, and Santana feels her heart start beating again. "You can stay."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I apologize for how long the update took; I've had a couple of health issues over the past few weeks. Hopefully the next won't take as long.**

* * *

She can't stop thinking about it.

She can't stop thinking about Brittany, so sweet, so curious, so pretty…so willing to send Santana away. It had taken a simplified version of the past three miserable years of her life to get Brittany to allow her to stay. And why? Brittany said that she didn't want her…is it because she's annoying? Does she talk too much, or not enough? Does she eat too much, or smell too bad?

Santana feels a weight settle across her hips and she stiffens; Brittany, lying on her stomach, has thrown an arm around Santana's waist. Santana stares at the dark ceiling and huffs out her held breath. She doesn't know why she cares. If Brittany sent her away, she'd probably just go back to the slave farm for a couple of months, and it's not _that_ much different than being at Brittany's; she'd be fed at least once a day, she could bathe every few days, she'd only be beaten if she misbehaved or made eye contact…the only thing missing would be Brittany.

Santana doesn't think that she wants to give that up.

The arm around her waist tightens and Brittany hums. Santana smiles and ghosts her fingertips over Brittany's forearm, so soft and warm.

Brittany's somewhat of an enigma; Santana wants to figure her out.

* * *

All day Sunday, Santana can tell that Brittany is dying to get her father alone, but Pierce just isn't taking the hint.

When Monday morning rolls around, Santana opens her eyes to find Pierce staring at her again, that same look of disproval plastered to his face before he leans over and kisses Brittany's temple.

This morning, however, Brittany is awake, and when the door closes behind Pierce, she clambers over Santana and races after her father.

Santana knows that she shouldn't intrude, knows that eavesdropping could get her into serious trouble, but she's always been a bit nosey, and she just can't help herself. She hurries out of the bed and down the hall.

Santana creeps down the stairs, keeping close to the wall, careful to leave the pictures hanging there in tact. Pierce and Brittany are in the kitchen, and Santana has missed the better part of the conversation, but she presses closer to the wall and waits.

"Dad," Brittany draws out in a whine, sounding desperate and frustrated. "You're not listening."

"Britt," Pierce answers sternly. Santana can hear the _clunk_ of a coffee cup hitting the tabletop. "It's nonsense. I raised you better than this."

"But I didn't _want_ her!" Brittany exclaims, sadness lacing her voice. Santana frowns, feels like she's been punch in the stomach, kicked in the ribs; she'd known that, but the words falling from Brittany's mouth still sting.

"That's fine, Brittany. It's hard to find the perfect slave. We'll take her back and you can pick out one you like. Maybe you'd like a male better." Santana's chin trembles and she bites her lip as a newspaper page is turned.

Brittany sighs; Santana thinks of going back up to her room, but changes her mind. "You don't get it, dad." It's Pierce's turn to sigh, like he's tired of the argument, like he's heard it before, like he knows what's coming. Santana wishes she did, because none of this makes any sense to her.

"B-"

"It's all of them," Brittany continues over her father. "I don't want a slave!" Santana's mouth falls open as Brittany spits the last word like its poison on her tongue. Who didn't want a slave? Even slaves were guilty of fantasizing about owning someone, having someone tend to their every need.

"Britt-"

"And you knew that, but you bought her behind my back anyways. I've told you before that I don't believe in this. The slave trade is stupid; why do people have to own other people?" Santana has to steady herself against the wall. She's never heard of those words falling from a master's lips before. She's never heard of those who are privileged enough to be a master actually _complain_ about being a master. There's never been a master, to her knowledge, that didn't appreciate every ounce of power that they were given.

But somehow it all made sense. Brittany treats her decently, she doesn't allow Santana to call her 'mistress'…and it's all because Brittany doesn't see her any differently than she sees her father, Mike, or anyone else. To Brittany, they're all equal.

_"You're not my slave."_

These few days Santana had wondered what she was doing wrong and it was the one thing that she hadn't even considered. Yes, Pierce made her uncomfortable with his aggressiveness. Yes, Brittany made her uncomfortable with what Santana had considered aloof mixed messages. But not once had Santana considered that she was making Brittany uncomfortable with a title that she had automatically pasted onto Brittany.

Santana's been assuming that Brittany wanted a slave; maybe what she had wanted was a friend.

"I don't want to hear that." Pierce's voice drawing closer draws Santana out of her reverie too late for her to escape up the stairs. He gestures angrily at her and looks back at Brittany. "See? She heard you; now it'll be impossible for you to get her to take orders!"

Brittany stares wide-eyed at Santana pressed against the wall, and Santana's sure her ashen face matches Santana's own. Pierce leaves without a goodbye, slamming the door to show his disgruntlement with the situation. Shannon appears behind Brittany and wraps a hand around the back of Brittany's neck. Santana's eyes flick to her; she looks oddly relieved.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," Shannon says. Brittany tenses under her hand. "It wasn't my place. I thought Britt would tell you herself."

Brittany averts her gaze to the floor. Santana takes a step forward. There's a newfound confidence blossoming in her, but she needs to know that it's true. "You don't agree with slavery? At all?"

Brittany lifts her eyes to meet Santana's. "It's stupid," she repeats. She pushes past Santana and stomps to her room. Shannon motions for Santana to follow Brittany. Santana does so without hesitation.

Santana hurries back to Brittany's room. Brittany is staring at her laptop's screensaver when Santana enters. Brittany flinches when the _click_ of the door closing pierces the silence.

Santana stares at Brittany's back for a moment before moving to the side, into her line of sight. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Brittany's eyes flit to her; she looks nervous, and she hopes that Brittany doesn't think that Santana would hurt her. She could never hurt Brittany. Brittany shrugs and fiddles with a unicorn-shaped eraser.

"I wish you would have said something." Santana's fingers twist around each other, and Brittany watches her curiously. "These past few days…I thought you hated me. Or that I was doing something wrong."

Brittany shakes her head. "I don't hate you." She stands from her desk chair and stuffs her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. "You're really nice."

Santana smiles a bit. "I see now that what I mistook for hatred was really me making you uncomfortable."

Brittany shrugs and scuffs her toe on the carpet. "What was I supposed to say?"

"How about _you don't have to be afraid of me, I don't think like he does_?" The words come out harsher than she'd intended them to, and Brittany frowns at her. Santana takes a deep breath to calm herself; Brittany is obviously sensitive to anger, though Santana's sure she should be immune to it since Pierce is her father.

"I'm sorry," Brittany says.

Santana shakes her head. "No. No, you don't have anything to be sorry for." Hesitantly, she reaches out and takes Brittany's hand. Brittany lets her hold it awkwardly for a few seconds before smiling and squeezing Santana's hand. "You tried to tell me." Brittany nods. "_I'm_ sorry. For not catching on."

Brittany plays with Santana's fingers. "I never wanted a slave," she repeats, as if clarifying it. She shudders at the thought.

Santana takes a deep breath, wanting to make a proposal, but scared that it will be rejected. "Well," she says. "How about a friend?"

Brittany's face splits into a grin slowly, like she's not sure she's heard correctly, and Santana's heart thuds; she has yet to see Brittany with such a large smile, and knowing that she put it there almost makes her cry tears of joy. Brittany squeezes her hand tightly and pulls her closer. The hug is tight, but brief; the last time she'd been hugged in such a way had also been the last morning she'd seen her mother – Sam had given her a strange version of a one-armed hug in the cargo truck, but she doesn't count it because it had been rushed and weird for her.

Brittany pulls back, her face suddenly serious, and Santana's heart drops. "One condition," she says. "Can we snuggle?"

Santana raises her eyebrows and her mouth works silently before she's finally able to stutter out, "I…I g-guess?" She's never…snuggled with anyone before; she's not even sure she would know how. It would probably end up being awkward.

Brittany claps happily. She seems just as excited to have a friend as Santana is, and Santana wonders if Brittany's ever had a friend before. If not, then she and Santana are in the same boat – Santana had tried making friends with the boy next door when she was seven; they'd talked over the fence separating their backyards for a while, but his mother had put a stop to it quickly once she found out that Santana's mother was a slave.

It had been just one of many disappointments in her life, and remembering it sobers her. Her smile falters; she reminds herself to not get too used to being here, with Brittany, feeling so light. It can still be easily taken away tomorrow.

In fact, Santana thinks, it probably will be.

Brittany grabs her hand again. "Do you want to go to the park?"

Santana smiles at the randomness of the request and nods. Brittany hurries to the closet. She hands Santana a pair of jeans that she says are a couple of years old – they're too small for Brittany, but still too large for Santana – and a tank top. Once they're dressed and Brittany has chosen an appropriate beanie, Brittany tugs Santana down the stairs by her hand. She calls a goodbye to Shannon as she rushes out the door, finally ushering Santana into the passenger seat of her car.

They're mostly quiet during the drive, but unlike before it's not awkward. The wall between them is crumbling piece by piece. Brittany hums to the radio and Santana stares out the window. Most people that they pass on the sidewalk have slaves on leashes, and Santana almost feels guilty. At a stop sign, a man catches her eye, and before she can look away he's waving to her like they're old friends. She nods once before looking back at Brittany.

Brittany smiles, having felt her stare. "What?"

Santana shrugs and absentmindedly rubs her neck, relishing the absence of a collar. "That guy waved at me."

Brittany frowns, obviously not seeing what's made Santana so uncomfortable. "Do you know him?"

Santana shakes her head and resumes staring out the window. "I guess it's just weird how differently…" She trails off, lost in thought, and Brittany must understand what she means because she falls silent and lets the subject die.

It's baffling – and a bit depressing – how a small change – the absence of a collar, her presence in the front seat – can change someone's view of her. If she had been in the backseat that man probably would have scowled at her; he might've even yelled a threat at her for staring.

Santana shakes her head as they pull into the parking lot of the Lima Bean. When they enter, Mike stops wiping the counter to smile broadly at them. He greets Brittany and holds out his hand, silently offering a fist bump to Santana, which she accepts awkwardly.

"So, Britt," he says conversationally as he fills their order. "A bunch of us are going to Rachel's tonight." His tone reeks of _conspiracy_, and Santana can't help but lean closer. "You guys comin'?"

Santana catches Brittany glance at her. "Um," she says, and Mike looks hopeful. "Maybe next time."

Mike hesitates, his eyes shifting between them rapidly. "I…are you sure?"

Brittany turns to her, asks her to go wait in the car. Mike grins at her, and she nods. As she turns, she glimpses Tina in the back, donning an apron and grinning at a customer. The sight makes her hesitate long enough to hear Brittany tell Mike, "I don't think now's the right time; she's not ready."

Santana frowns, but continues to the car.

* * *

They end up eating the breakfast that Brittany had bought by the duck pond. Brittany bought an extra bagel to feed the ducks, and as she throws the bits of bread, giggling all the while, Santana crosses her legs and contemplates Brittany's words to Mike.

What is it, exactly, that she's not ready for? Santana doesn't think that there could be a bigger blow than finding a master who despised slavery. After that, Santana doesn't think there's anything Brittany could pull on her that would rattle her…could she?

"Would you like to hang out with my friends sometime?" Brittany suddenly seems nervous. A duck waddles closer and she makes a show of feeding it to avoid looking at Santana. "It's usually just Mike, Rachel, Puck, Artie, Finn, and…others."

Santana doesn't know who all of those people are, but she can take a guess at who the _others_ are; slaves.

Santana smiles; it's nice that Brittany thought to invite her. She can't wait to figure out what's going on with Mike and Brittany. And, she thinks, it might be nice to see Tina; they've never met, but Santana had seen her traded between Wheels and Mike, and she's a bit curious about what kind of master Mike is overall.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Sounds fun."

Brittany smiles and rips off half of the bagel. She hands it to Santana, and together they finish feeding the ducks.

* * *

When Brittany asked if they could snuggle, she hadn't been kidding. She directs Santana into a 'little spoon' position – Brittany's words, not Santana's – and curls around her back.

Santana almost hates to admit that it feels good. It feels safe, not at all awkward like she'd initially thought it would be.

She almost wants to expect Brittany to violate her.

"You do this often?" She asks, because Brittany is _really_ good at snuggling.

Brittany hums into her neck, and Santana's not sure if that's a 'yes' or not. "I snuggled with Mike and Puck a lot after my mom died." Her voice turns somber, and Santana kind of regrets asking. "Especially Mike; he's my best friend."

The flare of jealousy she feels is completely uncalled for, she knows, so she tamps it down. "That was sweet of them," she says around a yawn. Lying like this, wrapped in Brittany's embrace, makes her sleepy, makes her feel like it's okay to sleep.

Brittany hums again and snuggles closer. "'Night, San."

Santana's breath catches at the nickname and she presses her grin into the pillow. "Goodnight, Britt."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: First off, if anyone here had read my Heya high school AU story in the past, it's now up on AO3, complete with corrected grammar and spelling.**

**Second, someone expressed concern about the Mike and Puck deal that was mentioned in the last chapter; there will be no Bike or Pierceman relationship (or Bram for that matter, since that was brought up privately). Mike and Puck were just being good bros and cuddling with Brittany when she was feeling sad about her mom.**

**I apologize for the increasing wait between updates; ideas aren't coming to me as easily as I had hoped they would. As always, I appreciate each and every review, favorite, and follow!**

* * *

Santana rubs blearily at her eyes as she trudges down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last one in her half-asleep state. "Where's Brittany?" She asks around a yawn when Shannon comes into view.

Shannon folds down a corner of the newspaper in her hands to get a better view of Santana. "Good morning to you, too," she chuckles. "Britt went to the store." She gestures to the counter where a plate of bacon resides. "Help yourself."

Santana frowns. Brittany hadn't been beside her when she'd woken up, obviously, but she'd assumed Brittany would be in the kitchen. She pours a cup of coffee and sips at it absently, sad that Brittany hadn't at least woken her to let her know that she was leaving.

Santana shakes her head at herself and gnaws on a piece of bacon; Brittany doesn't owe her anything, least of all a play-by-play of what she's doing.

"Something on your mind?" Shannon doesn't even glance up from her paper.

Santana shakes her head and smiles tightly. "Just not a morning person," she says, and the fact that that's not a lie makes her feel better about not being completely truthful with Shannon.

The front door opens and Santana's eyes snap to it instantly, narrowly missing Shannon's knowing smirk.

"Good morning," Brittany greets her, swinging her lone shopping bag as she approaches. Santana watches her greet Shannon over the rim of her coffee cup, barely having time to lower it before Brittany is sweeping her into a hug, surprising her. She lets go, 'ooooo'ing as she steals Santana cup and takes a sip. "Mmm, how'd you know?"

Santana's mouth opens and closes several times, and Shannon chuckles again at her speechlessness. Recovering slightly, Santana smiles as Brittany hands the cup back and snags a piece of bacon, stuffing the whole strip in her mouth. "Lucky guess," she says.

"You're in an awfully good mood, Britt," Shannon comments. She folds the newspaper up and offers it wordlessly to Santana. Santana shakes her head, tries not to let her face give away her reasons, and Shannon drops it to the table instead.

Brittany ignores Shannon's statement and instead pulls Santana to the stairs by her hand. "We'll be in our room!" Santana nearly trips over her bare feet at _our_, her heart fluttering in a way that she doesn't quite understand.

They thump down the hall and Brittany locks her door once they're over the threshold. She dangles the shopping bag by her index finger in front of Santana's face and grins broadly. She's obviously proud of herself. Santana stares at the bag stupidly and Brittany swings it side-to-side and says, "It's for you."

Santana licks her lips and her fingers close over the handles of the bag delicately. Brittany watches eagerly, and Santana reaches her hand in. Expecting a new collar and leash or a whip or even a mousetrap, Santana quivers as her eyes rake over what her hand is wrapped around.

"Brittany…" She stares at the round red hairbrush and the purple toothbrush, tears springing to her eyes. It's not even that much, and she feels like the biggest baby ever when a tear slips down to her chin, but damn if this isn't the nicest thing anyone's done for her in such a long time. "I…" She swallows past the lump in her throat, thinks back to Kurt offering her his shirt with a dazzling smile, how she'd been grateful, but certainly not this emotional.

Brittany's smile falls, her eyes widen. "You don't like it."

Santana sniffs, wipes her face with the back of her hand, and says, "No, no, I…I love it. Them. It's just…been so long since-" She breaks off. Brittany touches her elbow, and Santana runs her tongue along her teeth and grimaces, remembering the toothbrushes at the slave farm and the government issue toothpaste that she was sure was doing more harm to her teeth than good. Santana lays the hairbrush on Brittany's desk and holds up the other item. "Can I…?"

Brittany giggles and sweeps her hand toward the door. "Toothpaste's in the medicine cabinet."

Making her way down the hall, Santana tears into the toothbrush pack enthusiastically. She hasn't had a proper tooth brushing in a while, and she's sure that she's pretty unpleasant to be around right now.

Santana brushes her teeth three times, flosses twice, and swishes a full cap of mouthwash before she's satisfied. She smiles as she slips her toothbrush in the holder beside Brittany's blue one. When she returns to Brittany's room – _their_ room – Brittany is sitting on the edge of the bed, twirling the hairbrush she'd bought in her hands. She smiles when she sees Santana and pats the space in front of her.

Santana sits, facing away from Brittany, and Brittany begins pulling the brush gently through her tangled hair. Santana closes her eyes against the sensation of Brittany's fingers on her scalp, trying to lessen the pain that Santana's not even registering. She remembers her mother brushing her hair, telling her playfully to quit whining.

"You have really pretty hair."

Santana forces her eyes open, forces away the fluttering she feels again, and scoffs. "Right."

Brittany pulls her fingers through Santana's hair once, twice, and says, rather distractedly, "No, really. Like really shiny licorice."

Santana draws her eyebrows together and releases a disbelieving laugh; Brittany really is something else. "Can I ask you something?" She asks, wanting to change the subject. Brittany hums, still slightly distracted by Santana's hair. "What's Shannon's story? I mean, your dad is terrible to her, but she's almost like your mom or something."

Brittany's fingers still for a moment, making Santana regret her poor choice of words. When they resume, Brittany speaks. "She was here before I was born." Brittany drops the hairbrush and begins to braid Santana's hair absently. "Before, she was mainly, like, a maid or something. When I was born, she was my…nanny, I guess. Mom and dad even paid her, gave her vacation…she was part of the family, allowed to call them by their first names. Mom and dad loved her, she loved them. Then mom died." Santana listens intently as Brittany's words get quieter, darker. "I don't know. It was like something in dad snapped." She snaps her fingers and Santana jumps. "Now he doesn't treat Shannon like a member of the family; he just treats her like a slave."

Brittany's hands fall to her lap and Santana turns to face her. She lays a hand on Brittany's knee, silently apologizing for dredging up bad memories. "So he hasn't always…beat her like that?"

Brittany shakes her head and looks away. "That just started recently." She grabs Santana's hand in both of hers and holds tightly. "I'm not…I don't think he's used her for…" _Sex_, Santana's mind fills in when Brittany trails off.

"So she's still a maid, basically?" Santana wants to ask if Shannon is still a nanny; she's not sure of Brittany's age. Brittany nods. "Does she still get paid?" Brittany shakes her head and Santana huffs out a sad sigh.

"Dad's still grieving; so am I," Brittany mutters. Santana squeezes her hand. "But violence is dumb."

Santana smiles, the innocence of Brittany's words shooting straight to her heart. She hates to get too close, too attached to Brittany, but she can't help but feel a pull towards the girl. She stares at their clasped hands for a long moment, watching Brittany's slender thumb rub a tight circle on her skin. She marvels at the contrast, how Brittany's is so much lighter than hers, but it still looks like it belongs in Santana's.

Brittany breathes in deeply and releases Santana's hand quickly. "So, what about you?" She asks.

Santana's eyes drop, her heart's pace quickening. "What about me?" She asks, feigning ignorance, buying time. She doesn't want to reveal too much, doesn't want Brittany to look at her differently. She doesn't want Brittany's pity.

Brittany shrugs and picks at a loose thread on her bedspread. "I don't know." Santana can tell that she has questions; she's afraid to ask, though, afraid she'll cross a line or say the wrong thing. Santana's not sure what exactly it is that Brittany wants to know so badly. Santana's already given her a pretty accurate summary of her past masters, and Brittany can't ask how Santana became a slave. Years ago, it was legal to capture people and make them slaves; somewhere along the line, though, the government realized that that was a bad method. If anyone could be caught and made a slave, then who would be left to be a master? Santana doesn't know much of the history, she just knows that these days you have to be born into slavery to be a slave, either through breeding, illegal fraternization, or by accidental pregnancy between a master and a slave – the way that Santana had been conceived.

There's no logical reason for Brittany to ask Santana what her life had been like. For all Brittany knows, Santana was raised on slave farms, like other slaves, not by a master who acted as a father for years before betraying her in the cruelest way.

Santana shakes her head as her stomach growls, effectively saving her from the conversation. Brittany giggles, obviously also glad for the interruption, and says, "You're always hungry!" She takes Santana's hand and pulls her to her feet. "Just like me."

Despite the foul memories that had been conjured up, Santana grins as Brittany pulls her down the stairs. As painful as it is to admit it, she can't help but love the feel of Brittany's hand in hers. She doesn't have much to compare it to, but their palms fit perfectly, their fingers meld seamlessly.

It's going to make it hurt worse when she wakes up from this dream.

Brittany drops her hands when they enter the kitchen. She pulls two spoons and two bowls from the cupboards and hands them to Santana. She opens another cupboard on the opposite end and pulls out four different cereal boxes as Santana grabs the milk from the refrigerator and sets everything on the table.

Brittany sits across from Santana. She immediately snatches up two of the boxes and pours a bit of each of their contents into her bowl, creating a mess of colorful circles and differently shaped marshmallows. Santana eyes a white box. Brittany pours milk on her own concoction and, seeing Santana hesitate, reaches forward and pushes the white box closer.

Santana licks her lips. "What is it?" She asks without thinking. She bites her lip and looks away in embarrassment.

Brittany takes in a mouthful of cereal and mumbles, "Read the box," like it's the most obvious solution, and Santana supposes it would be – if she could read. Santana's eyes burn. She frowns and stares blankly at the letters, trying to remember anything that she may have picked up in her eighteen years about words and letters. Or at least a commercial she may have seen for this cereal – her mom had only kept healthy cereals around, cereals with tons of fiber like Wheaties.

Being the child of a slave, Santana had missed out on the opportunity to attend school. Instead, Maribel had tried to teach Santana to read, write, and do math, but her master had made her stop. In hindsight, Santana thinks, that should have been the first sign that something wasn't quite right.

Maribel had succeed in teaching Santana numbers before they were caught, but she only remembered some letters, the simpler ones like 'O' and 'C' and 'L'. Instead, Santana had learned easier things like shapes and colors, things that could be taught a bit more discretely.

"Santana?"

Santana blinks and looks at Brittany. The other girl looks worried and Santana licks her lips again, this time tasting salt.

She's crying.

Great.

"Santana?" Brittany asks again. She folds her hand over Santana's on the table.

"I-" Santana swallows hard. "I can't…"

Brittany watches her squint at the box helplessly. "Do you need glasses?" Santana shakes her head, trying desperately to hold in a sob. _God_, this is humiliating. "Are you-" Santana watches as it clicks, like a light shining brighter behind Brittany's eyes, and she takes a shuddering breath, preparing herself for the taunting. "You can't read?"

Santana looks away in shame, but shakes her head. She's never asked how any of the other slaves could read and write, having not been allowed to go to school, and it's embarrassing always being the one who is illiterate; it's something that she's always wanted for herself, something she knows everyone else takes for granted.

Brittany stares at her for a moment longer before picking up the white cereal box. "That's okay," she chirps. "Sometimes I don't read good…well, either." She holds the box up for Santana's shocked eyes to take it in, like she knows that Santana will associate the name with the pictures and the colors. "Cinnamon Toast Crunch." Santana bites her lip and nods. Brittany pours a bit into her empty bowl. She sets the box aside and twitches her mouth to the right, mulling over the other boxes, which would go best mixed with the cereal already in Santana's bowl; Santana thinks this may be a habit of Brittany's, mixing her food together.

Finally, Brittany lifts a yellow box into view. "Golden Grahams." Santana rakes her eyes over the box, committing it to memory. She nods and Brittany pours some on the small mountain of cereal already in the bowl. She pushes the milk to Santana and takes a large spoonful of her own food into her mouth. When Santana finishes pouring her milk, Brittany grabs the other two boxes. She holds one up, says, "Fruit Loops," then sets it down. She lifts the last one and says, "Lucky Charms."

Santana smiles; it's watery, but grateful. She pushes her cereal around her bowl, feeling guilty that she'd assumed that Brittany would tease her about her disadvantages; Brittany's been nothing if not accommodating. When Santana looks back up, Brittany is holding her bowl to her mouth, gulping down her leftover milk. When Brittany drops the bowl and meets her eyes, Santana smiles again, almost shyly, and says, "Thank you."

Brittany blushes and pours herself another bowl of cereal.

* * *

"Does he make you nervous?"

Pierce had come home from work nearly three hours early. He sits at the head of the table reading the sports section of the newspaper, grumbling about bets and owing someone named Hiram fifty bucks, while Shannon finishes dinner and Santana and Brittany sit quietly. Santana had caught his eye twice accidentally; the first time he'd told Brittany to make her 'mutt' stop eyeing him, and the second time he'd drawn his hand back as if to backhand her. Ever since, she's refused to look up from the table.

She glances briefly at Brittany when her breath hits Santana's ear with the whispered question. She's not sure why Brittany's asking; the answer should be fairly obvious. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She swallows thickly and nods tightly twice instead.

Brittany takes her hand under the table. "Do you want to eat somewhere else?" Santana turns her head slightly to smile gratefully at Brittany. Brittany pulls her to her feet and yanks her towards the counter where Shannon is laying out the plates for dinner. "We're going to eat in our room tonight," she says quietly, and her eyes beg Shannon to not ask her why.

Wordlessly, Shannon fills their plates with food. Brittany hands them to Santana and leads her upstairs; if Pierce notices their hasty exit, he doesn't say anything about it.

Brittany grabs an extra chair from what Santana assumes is a guest room, and closes her bedroom door. She clears a space on her desk for them to eat at least semi-comfortably. Santana hands her a plate when she's finished.

After a few minutes of silence, Santana says, "Your dad scares me." When Brittany doesn't respond, Santana cringes to herself and looks up, afraid that she'd offended Brittany.

Brittany's looking at her food, biting her lip, but she doesn't look mad; she looks sad. "I know," she says finally. "He scares a lot of people."

Santana hears the unspoken _including me_ that Brittany's not saying, and she lays a hesitant hand on Brittany's knee. "Has he always?"

Brittany stares at her hand, and Santana contemplates moving it. "No." She covers Santana's hand with her own and squeezes tightly, and it looks to Santana like she's trying to draw strength. "He used to be nice. To everyone. I miss him. Who he was before. Now he's just a bully; bullies are mean."

"I'm sorry." Santana doesn't know what else to say. When Brittany lost her mom, she'd also lost her dad. Santana knows exactly what that's like, but she doesn't want to say so, doesn't want to make this conversation about her.

"I hope you'll tell me more about yourself someday," Brittany murmurs, and Santana's heart hurts in the best way. It's an unspoken promise, one that says Santana's staying, and she wants so badly to believe it. She knows that, if it were completely up to Brittany, she definitely would stay.

But Santana's not completely sure how much say Pierce has in the matter.

"I'm not that interesting," Santana deflects.

Brittany giggles and lets go of her hand. "I think I should be the judge of that." She reaches over and flicks the radio on. It hums to life in the middle of a soft song and Brittany gasps. "I love this song!" She takes Santana's hand and Santana barely has time to drop her fork before she's being pulled to the middle of the floor.

"What are we doing?" She laughs.

"Dance with me."

Santana freezes and Brittany grins at her. Brittany wraps her arms loosely around Santana's waist. Surprised, Santana's hands fly to Brittany's arms, just above her elbows, and hold tightly. Brittany's a very forward person, more than Santana had originally thought. When she wants something…she goes for it.

Santana kind of likes it.

"I…I don't know how."

Brittany giggles again. "Doesn't look that way to me."

Santana glances down and is startled to see herself swaying with Brittany; she hadn't even realized she was moving. In her panic, she steps on one of Brittany's feet and mutters, "Sorry."

Brittany pulls her closer. "You're a natural."

Santana scoffs, still embarrassed by her clumsiness. "I just stepped on your foot."

"Huh. I didn't even notice," Brittany says playfully, winking at her.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Right."

"Just relax," Brittany says quietly. "Unless…you want to stop?"

Santana smiles shyly and shakes her head. She likes being close to Brittany like this. The warmth of her body is oddly comforting to Santana, who, for the past three years, has despised being touched so much that whenever contact is made she has to actively stop herself from flinching. It scares her, how easy Brittany seems to make everything.

The song winds down and Brittany takes Santana's hand to twirl her once, their joined hands held over their heads, before returning Santana to her original position. Santana laughs, feeling lightheaded with giddiness. "So you like to dance," she observes conversationally.

Brittany shrugs. "I was a Cheerio in school, and yeah, I danced some."

Santana furrows her eyebrows in confusion. "Cheerio? Isn't that a cereal?"

Brittany grins. "It's what everyone called the cheerleaders."

Santana raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. Brittany steps away from her and moves her feet independently for a moment, and Santana knows that her earlier comment about only dancing some was just Brittany being modest. "So, dancing is just a small hobby, huh?" She teases.

Brittany sticks her tongue out and moves impossibly closer. Santana swallows hard and flits her eyes to Brittany's lips. She shouldn't want to kiss Brittany because _goddammit_ it's all so messed up. She shouldn't _want_ to do anything with Brittany because even though Brittany hates it, in the eyes of the law, Santana is a slave and Brittany is her master. Nothing can change that.

But Brittany licks her lips and her eyes find Santana's lips and she leans forward and before Santana knows what she's doing she's leaning forward too. Her heart pounds furiously, and Santana's afraid that it will fly out of her chest and slap Brittany in the face and completely ruin the moment.

Fuck, she _really _wants to kiss Brittany.

_Oh, shit_, she realizes that this will be her first kiss. Ever. None of her previous masters ever kissed her on the mouth, thankfully. Santana's hands shake as they clasp Brittany's sleeves tightly and she closes her eyes.

Suddenly, the door opens and they fly apart. Pierce looks confused for a moment, but he lets it go; if he assumes he was about to walk in on his daughter having sex, well…that _is_ why he bought Santana; he has no right to be shocked.

Santana crosses her arms and looks to the floor. The moment's gone; she let her guard down and she knows that it can't happen again.

No matter how much she still wants to kiss Brittany.

Brittany grabs her elbow gently; Santana had tuned out her and Pierce, and now Pierce was gone, as was their dinner. "Are you okay?"

Santana forces a blank look to her face to hide the devastation she feels. She shouldn't have let Brittany so close to her; she has to get rid of this stupid fantasy she has and remember that she's probably only here temporarily. She pulls her elbow from Brittany's fingers. "I'm fine."

Brittany swallows. "I'm sorry."

Santana pulls her lips into her mouth, unsure of what Brittany's apologizing for.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: First of all, I want to apologize for how long this has taken; I went on vacation with my family, and it took a while to get settled back at home. Unfortunately, school just started for the fall semester, so updates will not come as quickly as they used to. There are probably only going to be a couple of more chapters anyway, but I wanted to give a heads up. **

**As an apology for taking so long with this update, I made it longer, and managed to include the get-together with the rest of the Glee kids. It includes flirty!Puck and Samtana friendship. Also, someone requested Brittany's point of view, and I tried to include a bit of that, but I found it very hard to write her and not give anything important away, so it's only a little bit. **

**Lastly, I would like to give a shoutout to anyone who PM'ed me demanding this chapter. If it weren't for you guys, it still wouldn't be written.**

* * *

"So I told Mike that he'd _never_ get the girl to leave him alone if he didn't stop showing off his abs."

Santana scrunches up her nose and grins. "Mike? He seems so humble though."

Brittany scoffs, but is unable to hold in a smile. Santana's scrunch face is way too cute. "Oh, Mike is plenty humble about things that aren't his abs."

Santana shifts on the bed, managing to tangle her legs further in the twisted sheets. She props her head up on her elbow. "And what's so special about those?"

Brittany presses her face into her pillow for a moment, attempting to hide her growing smile. The twinge of jealousy in Santana's voice is easily detectable, and while Brittany's never been one to play those games, this is something that she feels she must explore. Finally, she raises her head and shrugs, attempting nonchalance. "Well, for starters, they're like a washboard."

Santana visibly bites the inside of her cheek, and Brittany giggles at the rather sour look on her face. She knows that Santana wants her, has known it for a while, and it's not like she can deny wanting Santana just as much. She'd tried to kiss Santana, for Pete's sake. And she'd have succeeded had her dad not walked in.

But, in hindsight, she's glad that he had interrupted the moment. Once she'd stepped back, taken a breath, and looked at Santana, she'd known that it would have been a mistake. It was too soon, their friendship too new, too fragile. The slave issue was still hanging over them, and Brittany knew that it would take a while for Santana to believe that Brittany saw her as an equal. She knows that it makes Santana nervous, knows that Santana still thinks that she can be sent away.

Brittany hopes that, in time, that fear can be quashed. Until then, she knows it's best to wait, to let Santana make the first move, if there is a move to be made.

Brittany taps Santana's arm gently. "So I was thinking," she says in an attempt to divert the conversation from Mike. "Maybe I could teach you how to read and write." Santana's eyes widen and Brittany, thinking that maybe she'd overstepped, sputters, "I mean…i-if that's okay with you."

Santana bites her lip and Brittany feels relieved when she sees the hint of a smile. She reaches forward and touches one of the letters on Brittany's sweatpants. "What does this say?"

Brittany looks down, then back up, confused. "It doesn't say anything."

Santana frowns. "Britt…"

Realizing that Santana seems to think that Brittany is playing her for a fool, Brittany is quick to amend herself. "They're just letters. They don't spell anything. W-M-H-S stands for William McKinley High School."

Santana traces the letters absently with her index finger. "Is that where you go to school?"

"I did, but I graduated." Brittany watches Santana trace each letter, as if trying to commit them to memory. She realizes that she doesn't really know anything about Santana, her age, or what grade she'd be in. She wonders what will happen if Santana happens to be a lot younger or a lot older than her; she doesn't look like she would be, but looks could be deceiving. "How old are you?"

Santana's eyes snap back to Brittany's face. She pulls her hand away, curls it into a loose fist, and rests it between their bodies. "I'm eighteen." Brittany nods, and she knows that her relief is evident. "I feel like this is the part where you tell me that you're actually forty," Santana jokes with narrowed eyes.

Brittany grins. "Fifty, actually, but you were close enough." Santana laughs, and it makes Brittany's grin morph into a smile. "I turned nineteen a few days before you got here."

Santana takes a breath, recalling Pierce's comments about her being a late birthday present. "Well," she breathes out. She spreads her arms out, as if presenting herself. "Happy late birthday!"

Brittany smiles softly. "Thank you." She leans in and Santana holds her breath as Brittany's lips brush her cheek. It's a soft gesture, and Brittany's lips are cool and smooth, but Santana feels like fireworks are exploding from her cheek. She swallows thickly and tries to smile, but her emotions are conflicting so much that she can't even manage to lift a corner of her mouth.

Brittany's ears turn a healthy shade of red. She can feel them burning as they always do when she's embarrassed. She'd expected a different reaction from Santana, a _better_ reaction. Maybe a smile, or shy, downcast eyes, not this wide-eyed, terrified look.

Brittany opens her mouth to apologize - not for the innocent gesture, but for the turmoil that it's clearly caused - but the door opens and Shannon peeks her head in to say that breakfast is getting cold. Brittany looks at the clock; they'd both woken up wide awake earlier than usual, but she hadn't realized how long they'd been lying in bed talking.

Santana rises quickly and follows Shannon, obviously desperate to escape the tension in the room. Brittany is slower to follow, thinking of all the barriers that she and Santana have to overcome.

* * *

It hasn't taken Santana long to figure out that Brittany's days are all pretty similar; breakfast, TV, lunch, TV, dinner, bed. TV is interchangeable with a trip to the backyard.

It's a never ending cycle, and frankly Santana doesn't know how Brittany isn't bored out of her mind.

But, then again, Brittany is entertained by the simplest things.

Brittany had managed to take Santana to the mall. Amid Santana's protests, Brittany had bought her an entire wardrobe of clothing and a new pair of tennis shoes. Brittany said that her father had so much money that he wouldn't miss a cent of what they were spending; Santana wasn't so sure, but she knew she had to trust Brittany. They'd also picked up a few children's learning books; while Santana knew she should be embarrassed, she also knew that learning had to start somewhere.

So just like that, Brittany's dresser and closet had been meticulously rearranged to accommodate Santana's new clothes, they'd filled out almost an entire alphabet workbook, and Santana could now recite the alphabet without batting an eye.

There was just one thing bothering her.

"When are we going to hang out with your friends?" Santana asks randomly while they're watching cartoons. Since their last visit to The Lima Bean, Mike's called twice and Rachel - whoever she is - has called four times to ask when they're coming.

Brittany's mouth twitches to the side as she thinks for a moment. She turns to Santana and vaguely says, "Maybe this weekend."

Santana tries not to stare at Brittany's lips, the same lips that have hovered dangerously close to her own twice now, as she asks, "Why haven't we gone yet?" And tries to hold in the _why are you avoiding it?_ on the tip of her tongue.

Brittany shrugs and twists Lord Tubbington's hair between her fingers. Santana wants to think that she's embarrassed about technically being the owner of a slave when she doesn't believe in the practice, but it doesn't make sense; Mike owns Tina, and it seemed as though he treats Tina the same as Brittany treats her. Plus, she'd bet anything that the rest of Brittany's friends own slaves, too.

Santana shifts on the couch. "I heard you and Mike talking at The Lima Bean," she says cautiously. She scratches behind Tubbs' ears and pretends not to notice when Brittany's eyes snap to her entirely too quickly.

"How much did you hear?" Brittany's tone is hard to decipher; she doesn't sound angry, but she also doesn't sound too happy. She sounds…anxious. Worried.

Santana sighs; she'd been afraid that Brittany would be angry that she'd overheard an obviously private conversation. "I heard you tell him that it's not the right time…that 'she's' not ready."

Brittany exhales and bites her lip. Santana wishes that she was better at reading people, like Brittany. "Oh," Brittany says.

"Yeah," Santana says slowly, narrowing her eyes a bit. She wants to tread carefully; she doesn't want to anger Brittany, but at the same time she's insanely curious. She takes in Brittany's hesitant face and says, "What, do they perform satanic rituals? Like, if we go will I end up being a sacrifice to the gods?"

Finally Brittany cracks a smile and giggles. "No, we only sacrifice goats." She finds Santana's hand and laces their fingers loosely. Santana tries to keep her hand from shaking. "I just wanted time to get to know you. Alone. We'll go soon."

Santana thinks there may be more but she doesn't push it. Maybe Brittany's just bad at sharing the people in her life that she's close to.

Instead, she squeezes Brittany hand tightly and suggests going to the park.

* * *

"All I'm saying," Santana says rather grumpily, holding her dish towel in front of Brittany's face. "Is that this thing just pushes water around. It's not absorbing anything!"

Brittany giggles and reaches a sud covered hand up to scratch her nose. She crosses her eyes to stare at the suds left behind, and Santana rolls her eyes affectionately as she wipes them away for Brittany. The gesture earns her a dazzling smile, and she clears her throat and resumes drying dishes to avoid doing something embarrassing.

Brittany's dad had stayed at work a little later than normal, so Brittany had shooed Shannon out of the kitchen immediately after dinner, stating that she would clean the dishes. Naturally, Santana had grabbed a towel to lend a hand. Shannon deserved a break.

"What do you suggest we use instead?" Brittany quizzes.

Santana twists the towel in her hands. "Paper towels, a hair dryer, I don't know, anything would be better than this."

"Oh, okay!" Brittany chirps. "I'll just go grab a handful of leaves from the yard then!"

"Shut up, you know what I meant," Santana laughs, swatting Brittany's thigh with the twisted towel.

"Did you just hit my daughter?"

Brittany whips around to face her father, but Santana can't move, paralyzed with fear; they'd only been joking around, but Pierce doesn't know that, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't care. She feels Brittany's slender fingers dig into her elbow, trying to pull her closer, but Santana's legs won't move. How could she allow this to happen? She hadn't heard the door open, hadn't been paying enough attention. She'd been preoccupied with Brittany. Always with Brittany.

"Dad," Brittany starts, still trying to pull Santana behind her.

Santana can hear Pierce's heavy footsteps approaching slowly, her breath comes in shallow, terrified pants; would he hit her? And if he did, how hard? Would he knock her off her feet, or just knock her head to the side? In the time that she's been with Brittany, her previous wounds have all completely healed, and she's not ready to have more.

"Did you hit my daughter?" Pierce repeats slowly, his voice rising with every word. He's right behind her now, the only barrier between them is Brittany's body. "Did you?" He barks.

Santana jumps and gasps at the outburst, spurring Brittany to speak again. "We were just messing around," she huffs. "Santana's my friend, and that's what friends do." Santana feels fingers circle her wrist, fingers too delicate to belong to anyone but Brittany, and Santana barely refrains from crumpling to the floor.

She can't believe Brittany's standing up to Pierce for her. All her life no one but her mother was ever on her side, and since they were separated Santana's had to completely fend for herself. Having Brittany do this for her now makes her want to smile dumbly despite the situation.

As Brittany pulls her past Pierce, Santana flinches, and is surprised when the only thing he throws at her is a withering glare.

"She's not here to be a friend, Britt," Pierce calls as they tromp up the stairs. "She's a _sex slave_!"

His words mean nothing to her. His opinion isn't one that matters to Santana. The only opinion Santana craves is Brittany's, and Brittany's opinion is painfully clear as she slams and locks her door and pulls Santana into a fierce hug. She whispers apologies into Santana's hair over and over again, and Santana realizes that Brittany had been just as afraid as she had been.

"You didn't do anything," Santana soothes. She wraps her arms around Brittany's shoulders tightly, her knees threaten to buckle at the feelings coursing through her. Brittany must mistake it for fear of Pierce because she firmly says, "He won't hurt you. I won't let him."

For the first time since she was separated from her mother, Santana knows she's found someone to believe in.

* * *

The next morning, Santana wakes to Brittany cuddling closer to her, her head on Santana's chest and her arm thrown over her hips possessively.

Santana pulls Brittany closer. She thinks about how close they've gotten, how quickly they've become friends. Somehow, Brittany had grown on her, and Santana knows she's not the easiest person to get close to.

If they were to be ripped apart now, it would absolutely crush Santana. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud.

"What'chu thinkin' 'bout?" Brittany mumbles sleepily into her neck.

Santana smiles. "Just wondering why your dad bought me if he was going to be an ass all the time." It's not really a lie; she'd been wondering for a while, she just hadn't had it in her to ask. "I mean, I know I'm a slave, but damn."

She can feel Brittany's frown against her skin, and Santana opens her mouth to apologize for upsetting her, but Brittany interrupts. "Dad said I wasn't myself after mom died. He said I was repressed."

Santana frowns. "_De_pressed?"

Brittany nods and props herself up on her elbow, making Santana miss the closeness. "Yeah, that. Anyways, he thought having a sex slave to tend to my 'needs' would cheer me up. He called it 'special attention'." Santana remains silent, sensing Brittany has more to say. "I kept telling him that I didn't want a slave, that I'd be fine in time. I had Puck and Mike and all of my other friends. I mean, they helped me graduate high school; I thought if they could do that, then they could eventually help me get through my chief."

"Grief," Santana corrects gently with a smile. It was endearing, the way that Brittany constantly mixed her words up.

Brittany smiles. "I wish you'd gone to school with me; you'd be the smartest one there."

Santana blushes and looks away for a moment. "I don't know about that," she mumbles into the air. She turns back to Brittany. "So why couldn't your friends help you? I mean, you seem pretty close to Mike and Puck. And that Rachel chick keeps calling. It's obvious they care; so why couldn't they help?"

Brittany's mouth twitches into a sad smile for a second. She traces patterns on the sheets with her index finger. "Yeah," she says absently. "You'd think. But…I guess something was missing. I just hadn't realized it yet."

"What was it?" Santana asks around a whisper. She holds her breath for Brittany's answer, knowing she needs to hear it, knowing it's important. Brittany looks Santana in the eye and gives her a watery smile.

"You." Santana's struck dumb by the single syllable, and almost misses the firm kiss that Brittany lays on her cheek before settling back on her chest.

Her heart pounds at the sincerity in Brittany's voice, and if Brittany can hear it from her position she doesn't let it show. Santana bites her lip as a wave of guilt washes over her; Brittany's been nothing if not brutally honest with her since they became friends, and she's been entirely secretive. She knows Brittany's curious about her past, but she's patient, she's willing to wait as long as Santana needs her to.

Santana doesn't need her to wait any longer. She takes a deep breath before she starts, "My mother's master got her pregnant." Brittany props herself up again to listen. "But he didn't want to be the father of a slave child, so he sold my mom. He said that she'd been fraternizing with his other slaves." Santana scoffs to herself. "The next man that bought her…he practically raised me. Even let me call him 'papi'. But I guess we should have known something was wrong when he wouldn't let mami teach me how to read or write. He was very set on me not getting an education. Instead, mami taught me easier things, shapes, colors, how to remember things since I couldn't read." She smiles as she remembers Brittany's improvised cereal lesson and the few others they've had, Brittany helping Santana learn all of the foods in her kitchen.

"Why?" Brittany asks. "Literacy is very common among slaves."

"I'm not sure," Santana says honestly. "I used to play in his office a lot, while mami was busy; maybe he didn't want the risk that I'd read his documents." Brittany nods. Santana pauses for a second before continuing; this part of the story was more painful for her. She'd never spoken about it before now. Brittany rubs her stomach in silent support. "Um…when I was fifteen, he told us that we were going to the community pool. It was extremely hot that day, so we got excited, obviously. We, uh…we got in the car and he drove and drove and drove…past the pool, past the city limit signs…and straight to the auction block."

"Oh, Santana," Brittany whispers, her shining eyes wide.

Santana clenches and unclenches her teeth, willing herself to continue; as close as she and Brittany have gotten, there's still a wall between them in the form of Santana's past, the reason for her trust issues, and Santana is determined to tear it down.

"He sold us. Separately," she whispers. "I never saw my mom again." She closes her eyes against the memory of being ripped away from her mother, her mother's anguished cries, and the crowd's laughter at this sick form of entertainment.

"Santana…"

"I don't even know if she's alive," Santana sobs, covering her face with her hands as her body begins to shake. She feels Brittany slide up and pull her head to her chest. She burrows herself deep in Brittany's embrace and remains there long after her sobs turn to whimpers and then silence other than Brittany's soft humming.

She feels lighter than she's felt in years.

But more importantly, Santana thinks, she feels _safe._

* * *

When Pierce is home, Brittany does her best to keep him away from Santana - usually by at least two rooms - even if they have to leave the house while he's home. It makes Santana a bit sad, really, seeing how hard Pierce tries with Brittany, but also how that effort is just pushing Brittany further away from him. Brittany's afraid of him, of his temper, and can barely stand to eat dinner with him, and Santana doesn't blame her; if he'd so willingly hit Shannon, someone who had been part of his family longer than Brittany, who's to say he wouldn't hit Brittany too? He can be so pleasant one minute, chatting lightly with Brittany or even Shannon, then the next moment he's screaming at Santana or slapping Shannon, and it upsets Brittany.

Which is why she's grateful for the times Brittany takes her to the park or the lake or The Lima bean; sure she's afraid of Pierce, but what she really can't stand is that grimace on Brittany's face or the tension coiled in her body. A body like Brittany's is built for grace and looseness, not the strain and rigidity that her father's presence instills in her -

- and god, she really shouldn't be thinking of Brittany's body, and it's hard not to when Brittany stretches beside her and her shirt rides up to expose her stomach. If Santana would just reach out, she could run her fingers over the subtle lines of muscle, could feel the smoothness…no. She won't do it. Not yet, at least.

She's only just come to terms with her nearly uncontrollable desire to kiss Brittany. But wanting to touch her…that's an entirely new level that she's now got to try to force herself to accept without feeling dirty.

They're friends.

Just friends.

But as Santana looks at Brittany's sleeping face, she can't help but want so much more.

When Brittany pounces on her the next weekend, Santana groans and squeezes her eyes closed tightly; it's still very much dark outside, and Brittany is entirely too happy for this early in the morning.

Or this late at night.

Santana's not sure which is correct, nor does she care. "Why is this happening?" She mumbles through the blonde hair covering her face.

Brittany giggles and presses her body against the length of Santana's. Santana's eyes pop open. "Because dad just left for Minnesota and today we're going to hang out with my friends!"

Santana swallows all of her conflicting emotions - irritation at being woken up, elation at Pierce being completely out of the state, nervousness at the prospect of hanging out with Brittany's friends, and anxiousness at having Brittany lying on top of her - and playfully says, "So? It couldn't wait until morning?"

She expects Brittany to pout, so the smile she feels when Brittany presses a quick kiss to her cheek is surprising. Brittany lifts herself off of Santana, and Santana puffs out a relieved breath. "It _is _morning, silly!"

Santana rolls over and snuggles deeper into the sheets. "I meant when the sun comes up."

The bed dips behind her and Brittany begins to bounce excitedly; Santana thinks it's odd that just a few weeks ago Brittany hadn't wanted her to meet her friends, and now she's excited about it. "I'm just so excited," she says, as if Santana couldn't tell.

Santana smiles into her pillow and jokingly says, "If you don't stop bouncing my stomach's going to show you just how _excited_ it is."

"Gross," Brittany says, but Santana can still hear the smile in her voice.

Santana gropes behind herself for Brittany's hand. When she finds it, she pulls Brittany back to the bed and says, "Sleep," leaving absolutely no room for an argument. Brittany winds her arms around Santana as best she can while still on top of the blankets.

Santana knows as she drifts back to sleep that Brittany won't be sleeping anymore tonight.

* * *

A few hours later, after the sun has risen, Brittany and Santana stand outside of Rachel's house in front of a side door that Brittany says will lead them to the basement. Santana's a little anxious to be in a basement again, but Brittany assured her that if she gets overwhelmed, they can leave immediately.

Brittany taps her knuckles against the door in an interesting pattern, and Santana wants to ask if there was a reason for it or if it was just something that Brittany felt like doing, but the door opens a tiny crack and a brunette head pops out, looking surprised.

Santana recognizes the girl immediately; it's Berry, the girl who had battled Sue Sylvester at the auction block for Quinn.

Brittany throws an arm around Santana's shoulders and grins. "Surprise!"

"Brittany!" Rachel squeals in an overly cheerful voice.

Santana finds her instantly annoying.

"I thought I'd bring Santana over for a while," Brittany says as Rachel reaches for her free hand and squeezes affectionately. "I wanted her to meet everyone."

Rachel looks left and right, her eyes narrowed. "Were you followed?" She asks suspiciously, lowly, like she's a spy in a cheesy action movie.

Brittany sighs quietly. "You ask me that every time, and every time I tell you that I don't come unless dad's out of town."

Rachel pulls them through the door. Once it's closed, she slides several locks into place, then turns to beam at them. "And every time I tell _you_ that you can never be too cautious." She reaches for both of Santana's hands and holds them tightly. Santana sinks into Brittany and tries, as politely as possible, to pull her hands back. "So this is Santana! Mike said you were absolutely gorgeous, but I believe he may have understated a bit." Santana narrows her eyes, feeling absolutely irritated. "I wish you would have called ahead of time, Brittany! I would have loved to have the chance to tidy up a bit for our newcomer."

Gently, Brittany pries Rachel's hands from Santana. Once free, Santana steps slightly behind Brittany to ensure that it doesn't happen again; Rachel seems nice enough, but she's still a master. And an annoying one, to boot. "It's a basement, Rachel," Brittany says flatly. "How clean can it really be? Anyway, it was short notice for us too; dad just left this morning."

Rachel's basement breaks the mold of anything that Santana ever considered to be a basement. The basements she's been in have all been bare, cold, dark, with pipes that leaked and water heaters that clanked in the night. Rachel's basement is those basements' complete opposite. It's cool, but not freezing, and it's very well lit. The walls look like they've been freshly painted. It's split into two rooms, the foyer where they're standing and another, larger room that Santana can see into from another, slightly ajar door behind Rachel. She can see the end of what appears to be a couch, the corner of a rug, shadows from people moving around, and she can hear other people talking.

Suddenly, she's nervous again.

This was a bad idea, letting herself be led into a basement full of masters.

Santana takes Brittany's shirt into her fist at Brittany's hip and grips it tightly. Rachel's prattling on about refreshments and board games, and Brittany swings her arms back, encircling Santana and pulling Santana's front flush against her back. Santana leans her forehead between Brittany's shoulder blades and tries to will her nervousness away.

Rachel, still jabbering away, leads them through the next door, and almost immediately someone throws themselves on top of Santana, crushing her. Santana freezes, panic seizing her momentarily, until she realizes that she definitely knows those arms, even if only one had previously been around her shoulders.

"Sam?" Her voice trembles slightly, muffled by Sam's shoulder. Sam pulls away slightly and smiles goofily at her.

"Santana!" He enthuses. He looks her over, obviously remembering how banged up she'd been the last time he'd seen her. "You're okay!" His grin grows, relief evident. "When we heard that you went home with Brian Pierce…we were all worried sick!"

Santana smiles. "Who is 'we'?"

Sam steps aside, giving her a clear view of the room and it's eight other occupants. She recognizes most of them.

Noah Puckerman, the one that had always been pleasant, if a little flirty, - he must be Puck, Santana thinks, wondering how she'd never made the connection - and Kurt, the boy who'd given Santana his shirt, sit in one chair, Kurt in the chair and Puck perched on the arm.

Across the room, Quinn stands by a larger African American girl; she's the spitting image of Mrs. Jones, so Santana thinks it's safe to assume that she's Sam's master.

Mike, who waves enthusiastically at Santana, and Tina sit on the floor in front of the couch where a boy is stretched out, taking up the entire couch. He grins, and it's even goofier than Sam's. Another boy in a wheelchair is beside them with his hands folded in his lap.

"Rachel, Mercedes, Mike, Puck, Finn, Artie, and I all went to school together," Brittany explains.

"And," Rachel interjects, drawing the word out. "We were all in Glee Club together!"

Brittany's cheeks redden a bit at this, but she doesn't offer any further words on the matter.

"Santana!" Sam begins to rave again. His arm makes a sweeping gesture around the room. "They don't believe in slavery! None of them!"

From the corner, the girl beside Quinn laughs loudly and moves to stand beside Sam. "Calm down, boo," she tells him. Sam blushes. "I'm Mercedes. And we tried to tell them that, as long as Britt was around, she wouldn't let her daddy hurt you."

Santana looks around with wide eyes, the information overload finally catching up; they had been worried about her? They had cared about her?

And they didn't believe in slavery? Santana had assumed that Brittany was the only master in…well, the entire world, really, who had that mindset.

Quinn follows suit with Mercedes, stepping over and simply offering a silent hug, which Santana quickly accepts. She'd been worried about Quinn; Berry hadn't looked dangerous - she certainly looked less dangerous than Sue Sylvester - but Santana hadn't had any idea who Berry had waiting at home for Quinn. Quinn, like the rest of them, looks remarkably healthy.

Puck steps up next and leers at her playfully. "Well, hey hot stuff," he says. Santana tries to fight the smile threatening to split her face, tries to plaster on the same scowl that she'd always given him, but she feels a fondness for him, and it pulls at the corners of her mouth until she's leering back at him good naturedly. "Long time no see. How's about me and you-"

"Step off, Puckerman," Brittany warns lightly. Santana's heart swells at the possessiveness lacing her tone.

Kurt steps around Puck and pushes him back. "Yes, Noah, step off." He glares at Puck, then places his hands on Santana's shoulders to look down at her simple jeans and t-shirt. "I'm truly glad you managed to find your own clothes," he jokes before pulling her into a hug.

"I never thanked you," she says to him, her voice slightly muffled by his sheer scarf. "I'm very grateful for what you did."

He winks when he pulls away from her. "Don't mention it, honey."

Santana is quickly introduced to everyone else, Finn and Artie and Tina, and is relieved to find that they're all nice people. She feels guilty for thinking the worst before she'd even met them.

She feels guilty for thinking that Brittany would keep company with the sort of people that Santana had feared she'd meet. She makes a mental note to apologize to Brittany later.

It puts a strange ease to her mind, all of these worries that she hadn't really known were there lifting away, making her feel light and happy. All from knowing that these people, the one's that she hadn't even realized that she cared about, were healthy, safe, and alive.

After their introductions, Brittany kisses Santana's cheek and leaves her to sit in a circle on the floor with Sam, Quinn, Kurt, and Tina. The five of them spend some time recanting pasts and comparing the masters they have now. They had all been shocked to learn that there were people who didn't believe in slavery.

Santana learns that Kurt is mostly illiterate, also, and he says that Puck, bless his heart, tries his best to teach him, but it hasn't really worked out. Most recently, he's turned to Rachel for help, but they're not far enough into anything for Kurt to decide whether he regrets his decision or not. Quinn, Sam, and Tina promise to help the two of them as much as they're able.

Over an hour into their reunion, Santana glances to the other side of the room, trying to spot Brittany. She finds her huddled closely with the other masters around a book-strewn coffee table. While Santana knows that she and the others had been getting progressively louder, the masters seem to be talking in only hushed whispers.

Quinn notices her staring. "We don't know what they're up to," she says lowly.

Santana turns back to face her friends, and Tina leans in conspiratorially. "They have huge stacks of law books, but they won't say what they're for."

"Whatever they're planning, it's huge!" Sam chimes in, too loudly for comfort due to his excitement, and Quinn shushes him. They're quiet for a moment, but the masters are too engrossed in their conversation to notice Sam's outburst.

Santana bites her lip. "None of you knows what's going on?" She asks. They all shake their heads, and briefly she wonders if she'd be able to pry any information out of Brittany later. "Do you think it has anything to do with us?" The other's shrug helplessly.

She wonders if this is what Brittany had meant when she'd told Mike that Santana wasn't ready.

But ready for what? If the others didn't know, Santana can't see why it would have been a problem.

Quinn, Tina, and Kurt begin excitedly guessing what could be going on. Santana turns to Sam and tugs on his sleeve just as he opens his mouth to throw in his two cents. He turns to her curiously. "I have a question," she says quietly; she's not sure why, but she knows that if there's one person that she can trust with this, it's Sam. Sam leans closer, silently encouraging her. She folds her hands in her lap and fiddles with her fingers. "Do you think…I mean, is it possible…is it okay to have feelings for your master? Like…romantic feelings?" Her face burns as she stammers through her question, and she's almost too busy staring at Brittany to notice Sam staring at Mercedes.

"I think it's entirely possible," Sam says seriously after a fleeting pause. He turns back to her and gently places a warm hand over hers to still her nervous fingers. "Possible, but not totally safe," he adds sadly.

Santana smiles. She's not worried about safe; she's got all the safety in the world with Brittany.

* * *

Later, once they've returned home, Santana tries to discreetly ask Brittany what she and her friends had been up to, but Brittany deflects her questions like a true pro, so Santana settles for asking about her friends, how they'd met, about the Glee Club, and how they'd all helped Brittany - and Puck - graduate.

"Finn and Artie don't own slaves," Brittany says in response to Santana asking why there'd been an uneven master-slave ratio. "Finn couldn't afford one even if he wanted one, and Artie…well, he's not even sure if Little Artie works that way." She giggles behind her hand.

"That's mean," Santana chastises lightly even as she giggles along.

Brittany shrugs. "Those are his words, not mine." She scratches the back of her head. "I know you want to know why I didn't take you earlier." Santana nods. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the idea of people not believing in slavery; you seemed pretty shocked when you found out that one person believed that way. I wasn't sure how you'd react to a whole group of us."

Santana smiles. "That makes sense," she admits, though she'd still rather know what the masters had been up to.

Brittany turns on the radio and pulls Santana into a slow dance. "So, did you have fun?"

Santana squeezes Brittany's shoulders. "I did," she says. "But I have to say that I was really nervous at first, being in a basement again, especially packed with masters."

Brittany nods and says, "But it's more like a little house than a basement."

"Exactly," Santana says, glad that Brittany's not offended by her initial hesitance. "But I had a lot of fun. It was nice to see that everyone I was on the auction block with are safe, especially Sam."

Brittany crinkles her nose. "I like Sam. He's really dorky, but in a cute way."

Santana's smile falls as the words leave Brittany's mouth. Brittany thinks Sam's cute?

"Well yeah, but…like an excited puppy," Brittany says, and Santana realizes with horror that she'd accidentally spoken her words instead of just thinking them. "Is that not okay?" She asks curiously.

Santana shakes her head, feeling completely foolish for getting jealous. "No, I mean, yes that's okay," she stutters out. She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, frustrated at herself, at her emotions. "It's just that he doesn't seem like someone you'd hang out with," she says lamely, but immediately regrets it, because what does that even _mean_?

Brittany studies her silently, still swaying to the music. Santana blushes under the scrutiny and looks away. Suddenly, Brittany giggles.

Santana huffs out a short laugh and asks, "What?"

Brittany grins mischievously. "You're jealous," she teases.

Santana swallows thickly, but doesn't attempt to deny it; Brittany can see right through her, always could, and it'd be so easy to pick out the thinly veiled lie. There's no use causing herself more humiliation. "So?" She mumbles.

Brittany grins widely. "It's so cute."

Santana narrows her eyes, deciding to play along. "Cuter than Sam?"

Brittany's face morphs abruptly, becoming serious. "So much," she says, the raw honesty in her voice makes Santana's stomach flutter almost painfully.

Santana swallows again, watches as Brittany's eyes slide to her lips, her ears glow bright red, and with a surge of bravery, Santana rises on her toes and presses a hard kiss to Brittany's mouth.


End file.
